


What If This Is All The Love You Ever Get?

by 64907



Category: Arashi (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Biting, Body Worship, Closeted Character, Exhibitionism, Explicit Sexual Content, Homophobia, Host Clubs, Invasion of Privacy, M/M, Politics, Secret Relationship, Wall Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-11
Updated: 2019-02-11
Packaged: 2019-10-26 09:01:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 80,850
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17742980
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/64907/pseuds/64907
Summary: Matsumoto Jun has been the top-ranking host in Akatsuki for over a decade, a job that is an integral part of his life and cannot do without. Then he meets someone who piques more than his interest.Or, a story about love and finding it again.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [astrangerenters](https://archiveofourown.org/users/astrangerenters/gifts).



> Hello astrangerenters! I intended to write something else for you, but they weren’t working in the way I wanted them to. I know that my 80k-long TED talk on how Jun would fare as an aging host is perhaps far from what you had in mind, but I hope you enjoy. The timeline here is quite vague since it doesn’t exactly coincide with the local elections in Japan, but that is perhaps the only inaccuracy that’s present in the story (apologies for that).
> 
> About some of the tags: the politics mentioned are glossed over despite my research on the Japanese political system because I didn’t want to bore anyone (LOL). A spoilery summary can be found at the end notes re: homophobia, a closeted character, and invasion of privacy. In this story, there’s a character who’s outed against his wishes, and there's a bit of drama and angst somewhere along the way. It ends happily, but you know.
> 
> Huge thanks to R who’s always supported this idea and kept sending me hcs and photos. Title is from the Snow Patrol song of the same name, which served as a huge inspo for the headspace of this Jun.

“I’m betting you won’t even last a month.”  
  
Whenever Jun remembers those words, he’s unable to suppress a snort of amusement from escaping. It takes him back, to days when he had hair extensions and nails painted black and red. It takes him to that time in Toma’s family izakaya, to cheap beer shared over leftover gyoza and shrimp dumplings.  
  
He’s lasted more than a month; he’s been here for over a decade. It’s not the length of stay that amuses Jun nowadays—that aspect lost its appeal quickly—rather, it’s how he found the job high-paying enough to cover his expenses and entertaining enough for him not to go job hunting anywhere else.  
  
When Jun was young, he always dreamt of becoming an actor.  
  
He liked the thrill, the feeling of everyone watching him, listening to him deliver lines while sporting the appropriate facial expression. He’s always been a little shy, but there’s something appealing about the idea of wearing a costume to feel more in character, to have that moment where he could just be someone else who’d make his audience feel entertained.  
  
As he grew up, reality became more obvious, and after a series of failed auditions, of calls that ended up with “we thought you had potential, but we need more than just a pretty face” and its variations, Jun gave up. He once kept a journal that catalogued his failures in his quest to become an actor, but all it became was a disappointing chronicle of how inadequate they’d all found him to be.  
  
He had Toma take care of that journal that night, after they went binge-drinking at the izakaya. He’s never seen it since.  
  
Now Jun no longer has hair extensions, but his nails are still taken care of. He has an image to preserve, an illusion to sell. It’s like a reverse Cinderella, only that he’s also the Prince Charming. In a way, it’s acting. Jun doesn’t stand under a spotlight or deliver rehearsed lines in front of a camera, but he’s performing. Every night on the job—on the floor—is a performance.  
  
And he has to do well every night to remain on top.  
  
“You look handsome.”  
  
Ohno’s voice rouses Jun from his thoughts, from the magazine he’s absentmindedly flipping from one page to the next. He lifts his gaze to meet Ohno’s in the mirror and quirks an eyebrow.  
  
“I always do,” he says, and Ohno smiles. When Jun is here, he’s all charisma and confidence, no hesitation or fumbling that might leave his client unsettled or unsatisfied. Despite that, because he’s him, there’s the undeniable heat in his ears.  
  
He sees Ohno checking his watch.  
  
“Is it time?” he asks, straightening his collar and tweaking with a stray strand of hair that his hairspray failed to put in place.  
  
“You have five minutes before I want you in the bar,” Ohno says, and Jun merely nods. Ohno leaves then, like he hasn’t visited at all, and Jun is left staring at his own reflection—his face for tonight.  
  
Sometimes Jun looks at it like he’s getting the chance to wear a different mask each night. There’s something mystical and romantic regarding that concept, almost like he’s selling a fairy tale to whoever comes to their doors.  
  
Jun thinks there’s hardly any difference. People come to them for a reason. And if they leave with their spirits even the slightest bit lifted, Jun considers his job done.  
  
He stands, redoes his tie and keeping it a little loose for a more casual vibe, and lets the errant strand of hair stay where it is. If he’s lucky, a client will feel brave enough to brush it off his forehead.  
  
He goes, but not before stealing a final glance at his reflection. If Toma could see him, he’d likely say something annoying and cheeky like “Nothing will change for your ugly, aging face, so get on with it!”, but Toma’s not the one who’s been the top host of Akatsuki for more than a decade now.  
  
Jun leaves the dressing room and the lingering scent of hairspray behind, each stride taking him closer to the polished marble floors and glittering chandeliers.  
  
It’s time for another night to begin.  
  
\--  
  
He clinks his flute of champagne against his client’s, a lovely woman in her early thirties. She’s here for her first experience in a host club, and Jun’s a bit surprised she asked for him instead of someone younger.  
  
His age isn’t exactly a secret. Ohno loathes the idea of putting up severely Photoshopped faces with zero pores for their posters plastered outside the club.  
  
“What they see is what they’re getting,” is how Ohno puts it, always with a shrug after.  
  
Jun compliments his client—Masami—for her earrings and she laughs.  
  
“So how does this go,” she begins, “do you praise from head to toe on first meet or you go by what you think your client prefers?”  
  
“Do you want me to have a script?” Jun asks, taking a sip from his champagne. Alcohol this early in the night is inadvisable, but he’s had years of practice on how to hold his liquor. He’s not completely immune to being drunk, though, but there are Aiba and Nino to take care of him.  
  
Nino, who’d have a comment or two at his state, but Jun knows he cares.  
  
“I want what you usually show to your repeat customers,” Masami says with a glint in her eye, and Jun smiles behind the rim of his glass.  
  
“My repeat customers know what they want,” he says, setting down his flute. “Do you?”  
  
“I’m here and I asked for the top host,” Masami says smoothly, and the way she smiles to play it innocently is deceptive. Jun already sees the challenge and is inwardly thrilled. “I’m not sure I’m seeing him yet.”  
  
The occasional dilemma for someone in Jun’s position is that there are varying expectations for it. Sometimes they want Jun to sweep them off their feet, others want Jun to kiss their feet. Some of those in the latter meant it quite literally, and Jun has learned a number of excuses to escape such a situation.  
  
Looking at Masami now, Jun knows she wants no form of worship. She’s quick to dismiss compliments so she’s not looking for comfort. She didn’t come here to rebuild her self-esteem; she’s already an accomplished, confident woman.  
  
She’s here for entertainment.  
  
“I can’t do magic tricks like Nino,” he says, pointing to Nino’s direction in another table with a twitch of his lips. “But I can show you something stupid a friend taught me.”  
  
“Stupid?” Masami echoes, and the interest in her voice makes Jun hide a smile.  
  
“Yeah,” Jun says, schooling his features to seriousness as he shoves the cork of the champagne bottle past the opening. With the muselet gone, he soon has the cork floating inside the bottle, and a glance to Masami’s direction tells him she’s frowning, but he has her curiosity piqued.  
  
Jun raises his hand without looking, and soon, one of the floor servers come asking for his orders. He asks for a piece of straw and waits patiently until its delivery, and he takes his time in performing the trick.  
  
He learned this from Aiba, but he can never reveal that. Unlike Aiba who has miraculous hands, Jun only has long-fingered ones. He manages the trick but doesn’t see it through, and the result has him and Masami staring at the cork now back as a stopper.  
  
It successfully makes her laugh though, and Jun shakes his head, feeling only half-frustrated.  
  
“I did say it was stupid,” Jun reminds her, and she directs her smile at him.  
  
“You’ve got any more of these stupid tricks?” she asks. Her earring distracts him for a moment when it glints under the light. IIt matches the sparkle reflected in her eyes.  
  
Jun is certain that he’s already and completely piqued her interest.  
  
“Sure,” Jun says, and he proceeds to show her more.  
  
\--  
  
“Congratulations,” is how Aiba welcomes him when it’s nearly dawn and Akatsuki’s doors have finally closed. “You outsold Nino again tonight.”  
  
Aiba is the floor manager and head bartender of Akatsuki. How he multitasks despite claiming he’s awful at arithmetic is beyond Jun. Jun was good at math when he was in high school, but he didn’t exactly have the patience required to keep tabs on drinks sold by a host night after night.  
  
“Did I?” Jun asks despite knowing Aiba would never lie. He slides into the stool in front of the bar counter as smoothly as he can and props his elbow on the polished surface. “What did Nino have to say about that?”  
  
Aiba chuckles, the lines surrounding his eyes adding to his attractiveness. Once, when Jun was still a couple of years younger, he can recall a time when he got so drunk that he ended up kissing Aiba. Aiba never forgot about it, and Jun’s positive there’s no host in Akatsuki who doesn’t know of it.  
  
Jun doesn’t mind; he finds Aiba attractive. Sometimes he thinks it’s a shame that Aiba’s not a host like him. He’d do well on the floor instead of just manning it, perhaps outsell Jun even.  
  
“He said it’s because Ayu-chan is overseas,” Aiba tells him. Of course, Jun thinks, Aiba also knows the names of regulars. It’s what makes him a more capable manager than Ohno, who owns the club but can’t even recall half the names of the most expensive drinks.  
  
“Hopefully she stays there,” Jun says.  
  
“Are you feeling threatened?” Aiba teases.  
  
Jun snorts. The club is closed for the day and he can be as unattractive as he needs to be. Host Matsumoto is signing off for another night. “Nonsense,” he says. “If anyone’s threatened, it’s Nino. He hasn’t left second place for years now.”  
  
“Don’t let him hear you say that,” Aiba chides, but it lacks bite. “He’ll take it as a challenge.”  
  
“Everything’s a game to him,” Jun says, and he leans forward to peer beyond the counter, glancing at Aiba’s ledger. “What about our kouhais?”  
  
Aiba hums thoughtfully, scanning a couple of pages. “Kenty will stay as number three if he keeps this up.”  
  
Jun laughs. “His pick-up lines still make me shudder.” Jun admits he sees the appeal and the potential, but the lines he heard so far are all things he can never say.  
  
“But it works for all his clients so he’s still a favorite,” Aiba says. His gaze moves to Jun, voice lowering slightly in pitch. “Fuma’s really quitting though.”  
  
“By the end of this month, right?” Jun asks as he examines his cuticles. He has to trim his nails once he gets home. “He got the job? He’s been so nervous about that for weeks.”  
  
“Yeah,” Aiba says, nodding. “He got the job. He’s going to be a junior PRO for this guy he really admires.” Aiba shrugs. “I don’t really know the details. But we’re having a farewell party for him by the end of next week. Oh-chan’s orders.”  
  
Jun’s eyebrows lift at that. “That’s new. He usually doesn’t like sponsoring these things.”  
  
“Nino talked to him,” Aiba says, and Jun smiles.  
  
“Of course he did.” Nino may be Jun’s biggest competitor in the club, but when it’s just them, Nino functions as crowd control—taking care of their kouhais and offering them actually good advice. Jun has seen him do it and he has to admit Nino has a gift for it. He knows what to say and doesn’t hold back when he thinks it can help whoever he’s talking to.  
  
“So you’re coming?” Aiba asks. Knowing him, he’s already making an estimate of the contributions for the surprise.  
  
“Sure,” Jun says. “Tell me how much you’re going to need.”  
  
Aiba grins. “No need to pay for the share of others, Matsujun. You’ve all got salaries here.”  
  
Jun merely gives him a look, and he and Aiba stare at one another for a couple of seconds.  
  
Until Aiba sighs. “I’ll tell Leader.”  
  
Jun tilts his head in thanks.  
  
It doesn’t need saying and Jun appreciates that. In Akatsuki, he’s been the highest paid host for years. He’s getting older and knows he has to quit sooner or later, but the lack of something to do beyond Akatsuki’s doors is what makes him reconsider. His popularity should be waning but it isn’t, at least not by regular host club standards. The least he can do, he reasons, is to cover half of the expenses when a kouhai has to go.  
  
It’s not about having a good image to his kouhais. Jun knows that’s how it must look, but to him, it’s a little different.  
  
He’s got no one to spend his earnings on besides himself. He likes treating people because he feels responsible for them, having been in the business for over a decade.  
  
Jun drums his fingers against the counter as Aiba flips pages and adds a few corrections to his computations. Jun settles for just watching him despite knowing he’s free to go.  
  
A tap on his shoulder and Jun’s not surprised to see Nino taking the spot beside him, already dressed down to his usual shabby clothes. No one would even consider him as the second most popular host of Akatsuki in his worn out brown shirt, loose jeans, and faded slippers. Only his hair and smudged eyeliner hint at his job.  
  
“If Fuma’s retiring, don’t you think he’s setting an example for you?” Nino asks.  
  
Jun elbows him on his side and it sends Nino chuckling. “You’re older than I am.”  
  
“But certainly not in looks,” Nino says. “Why, even you like my face.”  
  
Jun rolls his eyes. “I was drunk when I said that.”  
  
“Do you hear him, Aiba-shi?” Nino asks. “He said the same thing when you guys kissed.”  
  
Aiba merely giggles, and Jun finally looks at Nino.  
  
“Do you want me to retire?” he asks seriously.  
  
Nino’s expression softens. “You’re so serious.” Nino delivers a light punch to his shoulder. “What’s up? You outsold me tonight so there’s nothing to fear, you’re still King.”  
  
“Stop calling me that,” Jun says. It’s an old nickname bestowed to him by a former colleague called Yamashita, who quit and became a traveling businessman. But the nickname caught on despite Yamashita’s departure from the club, and Jun hates it.  
  
“Not when it gets you this grumpy,” Nino says. “Don’t tell me you don’t want to go home.”  
  
Jun doesn’t look at him because Nino always knows where to look. He’s a little terrified of what Nino might say next should their eyes meet. “I’m fine, Nino. Go home, water your green peppers or something. Win a boss battle.” He waves a hand and shoos Nino away.  
  
“If it makes you feel better, you’re still the one boss battle I can’t win against,” Nino says. He moves to leave, though not before pinching Jun’s arm in a gesture of farewell. To Aiba, he merely salutes, and Aiba salutes back. “Sleep it off, J.”  
  
With that, Nino leaves. Jun doesn’t watch him go, instead waits until Aiba looks at him once more. It’s Aiba who always sees them off; Ohno often leaves ahead of everybody else to fish somewhere in the harbor at daybreak. How he manages his time while also functioning as Akatsuki’s owner is a wonder in itself.  
  
“Need a hand?” is what Aiba asks every time, and Jun shakes his head. Aiba’s definition of “a hand” is often a free glass of any drink of their choosing, but Jun’s no longer that young and impulsive to depend on such things.  
  
“I’ll get going,” Jun says instead, and he stands. For a moment, Aiba seems reluctant to let him go and Jun gives him a few seconds to say whatever he has in mind.  
  
But Aiba waves him off in the end. Jun leaves the glittering ceiling and marble floors behind, at least until tonight.  
  
\--  
  
When he gets home, he deposits his bag on his couch, keys jingling when he misses the bowl where he usually keeps them. Jun doesn’t have enough strength in him to care; he’s still a bit hungover and it takes a while for him to descend from something like this.  
  
Not because of alcohol; years on the job taught him how to hold his liquor better than most people, but it’s always been a little difficult for him to step out of the limelight once he’s spent a night completely basked in it. Despite being a couple of hours after his shift at the club, he’s still in the persona of someone eager to please, to leave a lasting impression.  
  
Whenever Jun becomes _the_ host, it’s hard for him to return to how he was before the hairspray and the makeup that covers all the marks left by puberty on his face.  
  
It’s like an addiction, except with an addiction you supposedly develop a higher tolerance for the substance, hence you end up needing it more. For Jun, that’s not quite the case. He doesn’t need the job more than he used to.  
  
He just takes a long time descending from the thrill that’s left in him every night.  
  
Nino’s advice of sleeping it off used to work, but that was years ago. Jun had to resort to other ways to pull himself out of whatever hole he’s stuck in. Sometimes it’s wine, online shopping for antiques while riding a stationary bike, or getting a massage.  
  
Today it’s him dashing on top of a treadmill that’s designed to cope with the training level of national athletes. It’s perhaps excessive, but he welcomes the feeling of being out of breath and perspiring like he just climbed a mountain. He welcomes the steady drum of his heart against his ears and raises the speed a couple of notches higher.  
  
When that’s done, Jun moves to the yoga mat and does as many push-ups as his body allows. He can feel the strain on his forearms, his hands shaking with the weight of his upper half, but he keeps at it until it feels like his wrists would give way.  
  
The combination of adrenaline and testosterone pumping in his veins makes sleep elusive, and in the shower, he throws caution to the wind and has a frenzied hand working between his legs. It’s easier this way; when he’s exhausted himself to the point he can feel it in his marrow.  
  
The reality that he gets lonely easily whenever he’s alone becomes something he can ignore.  
  
Jun focuses on the build up of orgasm, the tendrils of pleasure creeping up his spine and making his toes curl. He plants his forearm against the tiles and shuts his eyes, the pelt of hot water soothing his aching back muscles. He breathes out in rushed gasps and loses himself to the sensation, to baser instincts. His hand provides the relief he needs, and a twist is what brings him to the brink.  
  
When Jun opens his eyes, his release has washed down the drain, and the only evidence of his self-indulgence is his hand still circled around his now softening cock.  
  
He finishes his shower quickly and methodically, and when he’s in bed, he finally allows the idea to seep into his mind.  
  
It’s been so long since he’s had someone, and it’s unthinkable for someone in his position, someone who’s enjoying the attention of numerous clients night after night. But what Jun can’t quite admit to anyone is that it may seem easy to find someone willing to share his bed, but that’s not all he wants. That would work if he’s still in his twenties, still in his prime.  
  
But he’s aged and he’s nearing his forties. One night stands no longer appeal to him and having a relationship with a client is out of the question. He knows that most of his clients have their own fantasies of him, their personal versions of Jun that they pay to see each time they enter the doors of Akatsuki.  
  
Jun wants someone who’ll stay, someone who’ll understand that there’s someone behind the flashy suits and expensive jewelry. That there’s him and he’s imperfect and unhappy, and he’s tired of looking.  
  
His thoughts are louder this time, but his body is overworked, and when Jun lets his eyes drift shut, sleep eventually takes over and everything—for now—quiets down.  
  
\--  
  
Jun takes the train whenever he has to return to the club, and just to prevent anyone from recognizing him, always opts for a face mask and a pair of trusty shades.  
  
“Like you’re an idol evading the tabloids,” is what Nino once told him, snickering at the thought.  
  
Jun agreed with him then, but he has another reason he never shares with anyone: he conceals his true face to sell the illusion better, that he’s the perfect, charming host who’s won the hearts of all his regular clients. If they see him without the makeup on, in his clothes that Ohno scrunches his nose at (like he’s one to laugh, Jun thinks)—they’re bound to be disappointed.  
  
He doesn’t want that. He only wishes for positive things whenever his job is concerned.  
  
Jun likes making people happy. If he has to adjust, then he will adjust.  
  
“Slicked back this time?” Ohno asks after the stylist has finally left Jun alone.  
  
“Don’t like it?” Jun asks back. Ohno’s pertaining to his hair and he genuinely values Ohno’s opinion; Ohno sometimes sees things that he doesn’t. His way of thinking is highly unpredictable, but he has his own brand of ingenuity.  
  
Ohno hums, his hands now on Jun’s shoulders. With the way he’s dressed—an old Hanshin Tigers shirt and faded jeans—he looks like a maintenance personnel instead of a club owner. “It makes you look older.”  
  
“Huh.” Jun narrows his eyes at his reflection, at his hairline that’s thankfully not yet receding despite his age. “If I dye it and slick it back, will it work better?”  
  
Ohno’s chuckles are soft puffs of breath against Jun’s hair. “Maybe. But I like your hair black. Maybe add some bangs tonight.”  
  
“All right,” Jun concedes, running a hand through his hair and letting a few strands conceal his forehead. “How about now?”  
  
“Cute,” Ohno says, voice saturated with approval. It’s something Jun likes hearing. “You’ve always been cute, Matsujun.”  
  
“Get out of here,” Jun says, ignoring the heat creeping up his cheeks. He’s never perfected the art of passively taking compliments from people who know him beyond his job.  
  
“We’re opening in ten minutes, and I want you outside—”  
  
“—in five minutes, I know,” Jun finishes for him. “I just want to check my teeth.”  
  
“Vain,” Ohno says, but he leaves Jun alone, and Jun basks in the momentary solitude for the next few, precious minutes.  
  
He doesn’t check his teeth; he knows they’re perfectly white and his breath smells like the mints he had earlier. What he does instead is close his eyes and let out calm, measured breaths to properly get into character and leave the nerves behind.  
  
Tonight it’s a red patterned suit combined with mussed hair thanks to Ohno’s input. He’s got a silver necklace thrown in front of his shirt, and he looks like the huge poster of himself all lighted up outside the club.  
  
The fancy clothes are because of tradition—tonight is Akatsuki’s fifteenth anniversary since its opening. The history is still something Jun finds to be unbelievable; after all, the idea that Ohno Satoshi at twenty-three made enough money out of the hosting business to open his own club is astonishing.  
  
Jun’s popular, but he knows he’ll never be as popular as Ohno must’ve been.  
  
Now, he’s the one in a Dior suit and Ohno’s in an old, ugly shirt that’s seen better days. Jun wishes he can slack off as much as Ohno does, but then again, he’s not the one who has a popular host club under his name.  
  
He moves to leave after getting himself in the right mood, confident that if his looks for tonight are enough to gain Ohno’s approval, it’s enough for him to also have everybody else’s.  
  
\--  
  
He attracts attention the moment he enters the floor, his kouhais nodding politely when he passes by them. Jun acknowledges them in return but is careful to never show favoritism. Who knows what kind of tales these youngsters say behind his back?  
  
“Should’ve known you’d choose the red one,” Nino says when Jun takes the seat beside him. They’re in one of the booths, still devoid of clients for the night since the doors are still closed.  
  
Nino’s in a sleek gray, three-piece suit, and Jun knows that somewhere inside that coat is a deck of playing cards ready to impress a high-paying customer.  
  
Jun thumbs at one of the lapels of Nino’s coat. “You don’t look so bad yourself.”  
  
Nino laughs, his shoulders shaking. Like pretty much everyone in Akatsuki, Nino’s attractive. But unlike everyone else in Akatsuki, Jun happens to like his face a lot.  
  
“Will outsell you tonight, Matsumoto, if that’s okay,” Nino says, and the advance warning is unlike him that Jun is certain there’s more. “One of my clients is returning from her overseas trip, and she’s never seen me in a suit before.”  
  
The problem with Nino’s clients is that they’re so loyal to him that they never look at anyone else. Jun wonders what will become of them when Nino decides to retire.  
  
“Good thing I wore the red one, then,” Jun says. “That way, they look at me first before they try to find you.” He leans closer. “If they still want to find you, that is.”  
  
Nino chuckles. “In all the years we’ve competed against one another, you never managed to steal a client away from me.” Nino hums. “Meanwhile, I’ve accomplished the opposite.”  
  
“Because I’m not as underhanded as you,” Jun says defensively, and it sends Nino laughing again.  
  
“Watch over your clients tonight, J. Who knows, they might switch to Team Ninomiya after tonight.” Nino smirks, and Jun knows that countless have fallen for that smile alone. If he doesn’t know how much of a slob Nino is in private, Jun would entertain the idea of having something with him.  
  
“Stay away from my clients,” Jun says, and Nino holds both hands up in mock surrender.  
  
“Wouldn’t want to anger our King, would I?” Nino grins when Jun glares at him. “Relax. I’m not looking for more people to entertain tonight. My feet are aching lately from switching to one table after another, so I’m limiting my services. Especially since it’s anniversary night.”  
  
“What happened to your dreams of outselling me?” Jun asks curiously, not believing that Nino would give away the chance of earning more so easily. “Salonpas can easily solve your problem, you know.”  
  
“And end up smelling like camphor the entire night?” Nino scrunches his nose. “No thank you. But don’t worry; I’ll prove to you that it’s not about the number of tables.” He smiles, a particular glint in his eye. “It’s about the client.”  
  
“And how much money they’re willing to blow on you,” Jun says impassively.  
  
“You know them so well,” Nino says, patting Jun’s thigh in his slacks. “If I become number one, Kenty will become your problem. We both know that kid has potential.”  
  
“Isn’t he retiring?” Jun jokes, and he and Nino share a laugh.  
  
“That’s Fuma,” Nino says, despite knowing Jun knows it too. “I heard from Aiba-shi that you’re once again shouldering half of the expenses for the kid’s farewell party. Is it atonement? Do you feel bad when one of them quits because you, the old geezer, just won’t?”  
  
Jun swats at Nino’s shoulder, and Nino laughs again. “You’re older than I am, Kazu.”  
  
“But I certainly don’t look like it,” Nino says. “I appreciate your generosity, as always. Way to flaunt you earn more than us lesser mortals.”  
  
Jun laughs quietly, lowering his gaze. It’s not because he feels bad, but he doesn’t say it. He has a feeling Nino understands, anyway. He’s just choosing to be an asshole about it, but Jun wouldn’t have him any other way.  
  
“It’s almost time,” he says instead, and he catches Nino nodding in his periphery.  
  
Jun thinks Nino will let them both enjoy the momentary silence, but it’s broken with a comment of “If I outsell you tonight, will you retire first thing in the morning?” from Nino.  
  
“No,” Jun answers, and he punctuates it with an accurately aimed elbow jab at Nino’s side.  
  
Nino rubs at the spot, laughing.  
  
\--  
  
He’s lighting the cigarette of one client when her companion asks, “What’s your type, Jun-kun?” and he puts down the lighter before giving a scripted answer.  
  
To Jun, these are standard questions. He’s selling the ideal boyfriend, the perfect but unattainable bachelor, perhaps. The answers he gives have to be inclusive of everyone else.  
  
“I don’t have one,” he says smoothly, having uttered the words countless times before.  
  
The two ladies in front of him whine at the same time like they don’t believe him. It’s the expected reaction each time he gives that response.  
  
“That’s not possible!” one of them exclaims.  
  
“Right, everyone has a type!” the other one adds.  
  
They look at him eagerly, and Jun pretends to think about it seriously.  
  
Then he shakes his head after a couple of seconds. “I really don’t.” They whine again, but Jun holds up his hands to soothe them. They’re both in their early twenties, and Jun always needs to be a little theatric to keep up with their age group. “Listen. I’ve had a few relationships, all right? Of course there are girls whom I thought were good, but looking back, there aren’t any similarities among them.”  
  
Because I have never been with a woman, Jun doesn’t add. Not a lot of people know, anyway.  
  
“Then what do you think of us, Jun-kun?” they ask him at the same time. It sounds rehearsed, and Jun wonders how long have they been planning to corner him like this. He remembers the faces of his repeat customers, but he’s only been with these two ladies tonight.  
  
Jun glances between them and feels nothing. No attraction, no interest. Just pure business, that they’re his clients and this is a job, and he has to be professional at all times.  
  
“I think you’ve been looking at my poster outside for a long time before you both decided to pay me a visit,” he says, lowering his voice which has the effect of making both girls giggle nervously. “Am I wrong?”  
  
They sneak glances at one another and laugh at the same time, one of them hiding her face behind her hands. It’ll smudge her makeup, and Jun reaches out to tug at one of her wrists to stop her from doing it.  
  
That successfully has her freezing in his touch, the other lady beside her gasping. It’s a trick that never fails to guarantee a repeat customer, especially if they’re as young as these girls.  
  
“You’ll ruin your makeup,” he says by way of an explanation, letting her go just as easily. “You spent a long time on it, right? You’re very attractive tonight.”  
  
It’s a cheap compliment, but it works wonders because of his face. Jun’s known this a long time ago and he’s not surprised when they both blush in front of him.  
  
“Won’t you compliment me?” the other girl complains, and Jun turns to her next.  
  
“You’re blushing already,” he comments calmly, smiling gently when his words make her redden more. “I don’t have to say anything, do I?”  
  
“You’re being unfair,” she says, but she can barely meet Jun’s eyes.  
  
Jun plays along, nodding. “All right,” he acquiesces. “Since you both asked about my type, I should ask about yours.” He flashes both of them a smile and they both look away. “What do you like in a man?”  
  
They answer simultaneously, and Jun could hardly care less about what they have to say. The answers are amusing enough, though, that it’s not completely forced when he leans closer to say, “Someone like me?”  
  
Those aren’t words he can find himself saying if he’s not in the suit and not in the club, but Akatsuki works wonders for Jun’s personality. Once he’s outside—on the floor—he’s someone else. He becomes his poster: the number one host for over ten years.  
  
“I’m flattered,” he says when all they do is laugh out of nervousness. He gives them reprieve by offering to refill their now-empty glasses for them and they oblige, and Jun signals to one of the waiters who acknowledge him with a nod.  
  
“Do you always say these things?” one of them asks when there’s a new set of champagne before them. “To anyone here?”  
  
“Not just to anyone,” Jun says. To anyone who wants it, is the complete response, but Jun doesn’t clarify. It’ll break their hearts, destroy the illusion.  
  
“So we’re special?” they both ask eagerly, expectantly. It’s naïve and Jun admires them for how carefree their thoughts are. They both work as store clerks in Asakusa, and they blew a good portion of their salaries to be with him tonight.  
  
When they go home, this will all be just a memory for them. Jun hopes it’ll be a good one.  
  
“And I told you both,” he says playfully, coyly.  
  
He smiles behind the rim of his glass.  
  
“I don’t have a type.”  
  
\--  
  
He ditches the coat once one of his kouhais sees the last client out, and he immerses himself in all the noises surrounding him after.  
  
Tonight is deemed to be successful: Akatsuki’s anniversary is well-known by its regulars, and it’s evident that they performed better than their usual nights. The sounds of his kouhais throwing up inside the restrooms are proof of it, and Jun looks at Ohno expectantly for a comment.  
  
“You look drunk,” Ohno says, smiling at him.  
  
“Because I am,” Jun admits. He’s inebriated enough that he can easily say it. It’s been so long since he allowed himself to be like this. “I sold a lot of drinks for you tonight.”  
  
“For me,” Ohno repeats, nodding. “You certainly convinced one of your clients to sponsor the champagne tower to commemorate tonight’s anniversary, so you have my thanks for that.”  
  
Jun waves his fingers in dismissal, though the gesture doesn’t look as smooth as he wanted it to be. “Least I could do.”  
  
“You might have heard this from me before, but you don’t owe me anything, Matsujun.” Ohno’s eyes narrow past him, and Jun follows his gaze to see Yamada—one of their kouhais—dragging a passed out Chinen to the sleeping quarters upstairs. “I’ve kept you around because you’re good at your job and we’re friends.”  
  
“I don’t think of it that way,” Jun says, but Ohno gives him a look that tells him Ohno doesn’t buy it. Ohno’s known him for years, after all.  
  
“You don’t have to look for ways to repay me for all the years you spent here,” Ohno says. Jun laughs to play it cool, but Ohno ignores him. “And should you wish to leave, you know that all you have to do is tell me and it’s done.”  
  
“Why do you think I want to go?” Jun asks, wondering where this idea came from. He’s outsold every other host in Akatsuki tonight, cementing him as the club’s number one for the month.  
  
“It can’t be all about this job for you,” Ohno says, and the hint of pity in his voice makes Jun click his tongue in irritation.  
  
“That’s not how it is,” he says, except Ohno’s right. This job is all he has. It’s why he never left despite his age. He knows he’ll get a managerial position in the club should he ask for it, but he’s afraid it won’t measure up to the thrill he seeks night after night when he’s in front of his clients.  
  
He’s afraid it won’t be enough for him to simply watch on the sidelines.  
  
Ohno ruffles his hair, and Jun weathers it despite the act annoying him. He’s not someone to look after; he hasn’t passed out nor thrown up because of tonight’s celebrations.  
  
“I’m your friend, Matsujun,” Ohno says, and it’s enough for Jun to forgive him. “Before I’m anyone else, I’m your friend.”  
  
“I know,” Jun says, and he meets Ohno’s eyes. “I’m not going.”  
  
“I’m not saying you are,” Ohno tells him patiently. “But you have to know that if the time comes, if one day you want to—”  
  
“—I can,” Jun says. “I know. I do know that.”  
  
Ohno nods in acceptance, hand falling away. “You don’t have to pay that much for the farewell party.”  
  
Jun sighs. It suddenly clicks: Aiba finally told Ohno of Jun’s intentions, and that’s what brought on the sudden heart-to-heart. “I’m not doing it because I have to repay you. I just want to do it.”  
  
Ohno meets his stare and stays silent for a few seconds.  
  
“One-third,” Ohno says, voice all serious and business-like. “Not half. If you still want to shoulder a portion of the expenses, I’ll allow one-third, but nothing more. Say yes and I’ll leave you alone.”  
  
Of course Ohno picks the moment when Jun’s drunk and agreeable to nearly everything.  
  
Jun doesn’t say yes but finds himself nodding, and Ohno keeps his promise by turning his attention to his younger employees. He rests his head against his folded arms and shuts his eyes for a brief moment just to ground himself.  
  
A poke to his side makes him jolt in surprise, head lifting abruptly and causing his vision to swim. Jun squeezes his eyes shut to prevent making things worse, and once he recovers, he turns to look at whoever dared to annoy him.  
  
It’s Nino. Of course.  
  
His face is redder than Jun’s, his eyes glassy and grin wide. He’s so drunk that he’ll probably not make it to his own home in his state.  
  
“Jun-kun,” Nino drawls, flashing him another smile. “Jun-kun, I almost outsold you tonight were it not for the champagne tower you had Reika-san buy for you.”  
  
“Her name’s Ryoko,” Jun corrects, but he’s ready to catch Nino when he nearly stumbles. Doing so has him receiving a faceful of Nino’s alcoholic breath, and he turns his head in disgust. “You reek.”  
  
“So do you,” Nino says, and Jun proceeds to throw one of Nino’s arms around his shoulders, hauling him up. It’s fortunate that Nino’s of a smaller built than him; Jun can maneuver him without much difficulty should the situation call for it.  
  
“Come on, Kazu,” he says, and Nino complies. It’s unlike him, but being drunk on his ass makes all the difference.  
  
“Jun-kun,” Nino says again when they’re in the dressing room and Jun has finished depositing him in the nearest makeup chair. “Jun-kun, I met someone.”  
  
“You met a lot of someones tonight,” Jun reminds him. The effect of alcohol is beginning to dissipate little by little the longer he talks to Nino. “Was it the woman with the plunging neckline?”  
  
“No,” Nino says quickly, shaking his head. “Not a woman.”  
  
Jun wishes he was more sober so he could digest this fully. Nino rarely divulges details about his clients, always thinking Jun is going to steal them away. But once he talks, it’s usually because there’s something about them.  
  
“Tips graciously?” Jun asks, knowing that at this state, he has to give leading questions in order to obtain answers from Nino.  
  
“Mm.” Nino nods once, then twice. “But that’s not all of it. You see, he drinks like a demon.”  
  
Ah, Jun thinks, smiling at the realization. No wonder Nino’s so drunk tonight. He tried to impress. “Is he coming back?”  
  
“I don’t know,” Nino answers honestly, but he smiles at Jun once more, cheeks still so flushed. “I hope he does. It’s something to look forward to aside from finally kicking your ass off first place.”  
  
“Cute,” Jun deadpans, and he watches as Nino falls asleep on the makeup chair the next second. He’s going to have a nightmare of a hangover once he wakes up, and Jun doesn’t want to be present for it. He figures Aiba’s always here to take care of everybody else when Ohno has his hands full.  
  
Still, Jun’s not completely heartless. He searches the dressing room for a blanket and throws it over Nino’s form, adjusting the chair so it reclines and becomes more comfortable. Nino’s got back problems and he could really use a bed, but Jun didn’t think this through and was unprepared for Nino falling asleep on him. This hasn’t happened in years.  
  
“Good night, Kazu,” he says, messing with Nino’s still-styled hair before he turns off the lights after packing his stuff.  
  
It’s home for him.  
  
\--  
  
The farewell party for Fuma happens on a Friday night, and it’s rare to have Ohno agreeable to closing the club earlier than usual, but that’s what happens.  
  
Aiba attempts to wink when Jun asks who talked to Ohno, and while Aiba hasn’t mastered winking, he’s definitely perfected the way of convincing Ohno to give up a few earnings in favor of an employee.  
  
That, or Ohno’s sentimental about the people he’s personally hired. Jun has no idea which is it, because while Ohno’s willing to host a farewell party, he’s also posted a vacancy ad in the internet somewhere. Jun’s been invited to sit through some of the interviews, being the most popular host of Akatsuki, but he’s yet to attend one. He never wakes up on time for them.  
  
Fuma’s got multiple sashes around him by the time Jun approaches him, and because he’s a good kid, he bows to Jun repeatedly before Jun tells him to quit it.  
  
“I’m no longer your senpai,” Jun chides, but he’s toned down the intimidating vibe he normally channels. “Aiba-chan said you’re becoming a PRO for someone big-time.”  
  
Fuma shakes, still using keigo even if Jun’s so casual with him. “Not a PRO—Aiba-kun exaggerates. Just a junior press release writer. Or errand boy, considering I’m new and young.”  
  
“Well, you started with waiting tables till you rose to the top ten here,” Jun says, fondly recalling the days Fuma has spilled drinks on customers and Jun has to watch Aiba reprimand him for it. Aiba was no good at reprimanding; he’s too kind. “Do they know about this job?”  
  
“They do,” Fuma says. “They also know it’s part-time since I’m still in university, so it’s not much of a big deal.” He looks down, and Jun grins.  
  
“They don’t know you’re number seven, do they,” Jun says, and it’s not a question. He laughs when Fuma bristles, still so shy about his accomplishments. “Once you leave, it’s Kotaki who’ll take your place. I think he’s already so thrilled at the idea.”  
  
“He’s been wanting to take over me for a while,” Fuma acknowledges. “Jun-kun, I should thank you. Nino told us you shouldered a portion of the expenses for tonight.”  
  
Jun scrunches his nose, a little annoyed. “Why do you guys believe the stuff that comes out of Nino’s mouth? He’s the most unreliable source of information that we have here.”  
  
“You’ve done the same for those who left before,” Fuma says. “Thank you. I truly appreciate it. I enjoyed working here because I found a family with all of you.”  
  
He’s getting sentimental, and Jun’s thankful Aiba’s not here to listen to it. Aiba will probably tear up or sniff and ask for a piece of tissue later. “I hope your new job treats you well despite you having to juggle your time between work and university.”  
  
Fuma smiles. “My new boss is accommodating. He’s from the same university as I am, and he’s been telling me he wants to see my former environment.”  
  
“Then bring him here to Akatsuki,” Jun says simply. “He won’t be the first man we’ll welcome who’s not looking for a job.”  
  
“I’ll try to find a time that works for all parties involved,” Fuma promises, and Jun leaves it at that. He watches as the rest of his kouhais drag Fuma away for a speech in the middle of the floor.  
  
Jun lifts his glass to his lips as he watches the party commence. How do people find something else to do so easily? Jun’s been in Fuma’s age once, has been that young and spirited and driven. And yet, he never found an urge so strong that it prompted him to throw everything he’s worked hard for. Granted, his situation had been different from Fuma’s. He’s got no university to worry about or a planned future ahead of him.  
  
But the reality that an opportunity as good as that never came to him is a little jarring, if not disappointing. Jun’s thirty-five, and while he started as a host at a later age than Fuma, the fact that he’s not able to leave until now is unsettling.  
  
It’s not that he’s unsatisfied. He’s good friends with Ohno, Aiba, even Nino. He’s got kouhais who truly respect him and some of them even look up to him. He’s got a number of clientele he can always expect to show up once the club’s doors open.  
  
But a purpose for staying aside from having nothing else to do is what he lacks. It’s frustrating, but he knows he’s envious of Fuma and of everyone who’s left before him. Because they all found something more fulfilling, more promising than being a pretend prince or boyfriend to a high-paying client. They all had valid reasons for leaving and they all turned out to be better than just being a host.  
  
Jun isn’t looking down on his job. But the fact that this job is all he has and he stays because there’s literally nothing else for him, it’s sad and pathetic and something Jun doesn’t want to linger on despite always being there, always an existing afterthought at the back of his head. It’s only more obvious now because of Fuma, but it’s not his fault and Jun can’t even be angry at him for it.  
  
If anything, he’s angry with himself. For feeling like this despite the years, for always allowing jealousy to seep through despite knowing better. He’s angry because all his searches for something new yielded nothing and ended up being worthless pursuits. He’s angry because he’s only happy when he’s here, which probably means his life is so empty it hardly counts beyond the doors of Akatsuki.  
  
“Chin up, high roller,” Nino says, and Jun downs the rest of his drink in response.  
  
“This is not a casino,” he says.  
  
“True, but you’re still the biggest spender here,” Nino says. Jun looks at his drink and snorts. Water. No wonder he’s here to bother Jun when Jun’s wallowing in self-pity; he’s sober.  
  
“Here to talk some sense into me?” Jun asks, getting straight to the point.  
  
“Or stage an intervention, take your pick.” Nino faces him, eyes probably seeing more than he should. Jun wishes he’ll choose to say less. “You’re happy for the kid.”  
  
“I am happy for the kid,” Jun repeats. It’s not a lie. “He got his dream job.”  
  
“He did,” Nino says. “The person you’re not happy about is yourself.”  
  
Jun lets out a small laugh, though it hardly passes as a noise of amusement. “That transparent?”  
  
“I’ve known you for years, Jun-kun,” Nino says. “The shit you’re doing to cover up for your supposedly non-existent feelings don’t work on me. They never will.”  
  
“And you must think yourself so smart because of it,” Jun says, not bothering to mask his rudeness. He hates this intrusion to his most private thoughts. But maybe Nino just knows where to look.  
  
He always does. He’s like Aiba in that aspect. Or Ohno.  
  
Maybe Jun’s really that transparent to those who know him best.  
  
“Don’t be mean to me when I don’t deserve it,” Nino says calmly, and Jun automatically feels awful, being called out so early on his bullshit.  
  
“Sorry,” he mumbles quietly, but Nino simply nods.  
  
“Oh-chan always says you’ll always have a place here,” Nino reminds him. “You’re like an integral part of Akatsuki already. A founding member of sorts. What’s the problem?”  
  
“That’s the problem,” Jun says. “I’ll always have a place here.”  
  
He waits for Nino to understand, and it doesn’t take long. Nino’s always been as sharp as his words. “It’s called a comfort zone for a reason. You’re comfortable here; what’s wrong with that? Other people like challenging themselves and going out of their so-called comfort zones, but that’s them, not you. Why bother comparing?”  
  
“Because I like challenging myself and this is unlike me,” Jun says. “I started this job on a dare, remember?”  
  
“Good old Toma,” Nino says, nodding in recall. “What is unlike you? Staying? You like what you do. We both know that. You’re so competitive you’ve only known first place for years. Once you rose to the top, you never left. That’s admirable, if not a little crazy.” Nino laughs. “Don’t tell me now you’re not the type who stays when he’s got a reason to.”  
  
“And what’s that reason, Nino?” Jun asks seriously, as if Nino has the answers. Maybe he does. “Because it pays well and covers my living expenses? Because I’m friends with you and Leader and Aiba-chan?”  
  
Nino’s eyes narrow at him, and Jun looks away. But it’s too late, and he shuts his eyes in acceptance when Nino speaks again.  
  
“I see the problem now,” Nino says knowingly. “You want a reason.”  
  
“It was easier when we were younger,” Jun finds himself explaining despite not being prompted to.  
  
“When you still had tacky jewelry and wore a silver ring with a crown that was so heavy it always slipped off your damn finger,” Nino says. “I remember.”  
  
Jun ignores his teasing barb. “Back then, I stayed to prove something to Toma. Then when that reason seemed like a poor excuse, I stayed to set an example for the younger ones. But now those younger ones are leaving and there’s not a lot to set an example to, especially when the clientele is beginning to change.”  
  
“And you want a stronger reason than that,” Nino says. “Of course. You wouldn’t be you if you didn’t.” He tilts his head to peer at Jun. “Is your drive beginning to fade?”  
  
Jun catches sight of Fuma, sharing a laugh with his batchmates in the club. “What if it never existed outside this club? Isn’t that sad?”  
  
Nino is quiet for a few seconds. When he speaks, Jun feels a hand on his elbow. “You’re too hard on yourself, as always.”  
  
“It’s who I am,” Jun says, and he sees Nino nodding in his periphery.  
  
“Wouldn’t have you any other way, but I always hate seeing you like this,” Nino says. “Sleeping it off no longer works?”  
  
“No.”  
  
“Then sleep around,” Nino says. “Scratch the itch even when it doesn’t itch that way. You never know. It might help.”  
  
Jun smiles and shakes his head. “I tried that way already. Modern dating apps are really something else.” He laughs a little, too unconvincing for Nino, perhaps. “I always end up looking for more. Maybe that’s the problem: I’m never satisfied. I overthink, I set unrealistic goals for myself and get frustrated when I don’t accomplish them.”  
  
“And what unrealistic goal did you set for yourself this month?” Nino asks curiously, indulging him. Jun appreciates it.  
  
“Try golfing,” he says, and Nino chuckles.  
  
“As if you have the patience and time,” Nino says. “Try baseball instead. Didn’t you want to be a baseball player when you were younger? Never too late.”  
  
“I don’t have the body built to become a professional,” Jun says, rolling his eyes. Sometimes Nino becomes overly indulgent to the point that he says things that are absolutely ridiculous. “That’s your heartfelt advice for me? Become a baseball player?”  
  
“Olympics will be in 2020,” Nino says, grinning. “But seriously, go around—somewhere out of this club. Find someone to fool around with even just for a night. Watch a movie, buy loads of porn off the internet. Anything to keep yourself from thinking. It’s bad for you if you become like this all the time.”  
  
“I can’t just turn off my brain, Nino.”  
  
“And I can’t listen to you all the time so you have to pick yourself up, all right? Get a potted plant or something, talk to it as you water it and help it grow. Unload your sorrows to the poor thing.”  
  
Jun opens his mouth but resolves to close it after he realizes that Nino can’t know that he’s already doing that at home before he goes to bed.  
  
He’s really fucking pathetic, isn’t he? He wants to laugh at himself.  
  
“I’ll be fine,” he says after a while, when Nino has stuck to silence. “It’s just one of those nights.”  
  
“Jun-kun,” Nino says, and his tone makes Jun look at him, “you don’t need to force it. Nobody’s asking you to, except you. You need to learn how to take it easy, especially since this is you.”  
  
Jun knows these things. What he doesn’t know is how apply them to practice.  
  
He doesn’t know how to “take it easy”.  
  
“Drink,” Nino says, handing him the glass.  
  
“This is water,” Jun says, frowning.  
  
“And maybe it’s what you need,” Nino tells him.  
  
Jun acquiesces with a sigh, and Nino stays with him until he’s done drinking.  
  
“I’ll be fine,” he says for the second time. “Stop worrying over me.”  
  
“Can’t help it,” Nino says. “It’s what I do.”  
  
Jun’s touched and grateful that Nino’s always there to pull him back should he descend too deep, but he knows Nino can’t be there all the time. The water leaves a bitter aftertaste in his mouth when he remembers he can’t depend on Nino every time.  
  
He squeezes Nino’s shoulder in unspoken gratitude before turning on his heel and walking away, and with each step he takes, he knows Nino’s eyes still follow him.  
  
\--  
  
With Fuma’s “graduation” from the club (or at least that’s how Aiba once put it), the shift in the popularity ranking invites more hopefuls, some of them too young to drink alcohol but aren’t deterred anyway.  
  
Ohno turns them away, telling them to look for a job in a convenience store instead, and he avoids Jun’s questioning look when he enters the dressing room again.  
  
“That’s the fourth minor who tried to trick us with a fake ID,” Jun says, and Ohno simply hums. “When you told me you needed help with the interviews, I wasn’t expecting this.”  
  
“Were you expecting a long table and an actual audition process?” Ohno laughs. “That’s not how your interview went.”  
  
Jun laughs with him, remembering. He’d shown up with hair extensions and painted nails and had mistaken Ohno for the janitor instead of the club owner. It had been embarrassing, but now it’s a fond memory for them both.  
  
“I like this kid,” Jun says instead, lifting one of the application sheets for someone named Kawai. “I think he’ll do well here.”  
  
“You like him because he didn’t hide how much he admires you,” Ohno points out, his pinky once again shoved inside his nose. “That’s okay; I like him too. He said his talent was dancing and impressions, right? That was interesting; I felt like we’re recruiting an idol group for a moment.”  
  
Jun scans the rest of the information on the biodata and picks up the nearest pen to mark the name. “I’m set on this one. How many positions do you want filled, anyway?”  
  
“Two since they’re going to wait tables until we feel like they’re ready,” Ohno says. “Okay, Kawai-kun gets a spot. Who else?”  
  
“You’re letting me choose?” Jun asks, a little incredulous. “Isn’t this your club?”  
  
“Ah but they all look the same to me sometimes,” Ohno complains, frowning now at the sheets of paper Jun just passed to him. “The other day I mistook Chinen for somebody else and he whined a lot.”  
  
“Because that kid practically worships the ground you walk on and you can’t even remember who he is despite employing him for years,” Jun says, rolling his eyes. “Aiba-chan’s better with names.”  
  
Ohno nods. “He should be here.”  
  
Jun reaches over to swat at the back of Ohno’s head. “Then why did you invite me?”  
  
“Decoration,” Ohno says, and Jun kicks him from where he’s seated. Ohno laughs softly, face scrunching in delight. “Aiba-chan and you should’ve held this interview. Some of these applicants are true hopefuls and the idea is to let them see success should they do their best in this job and they’re fortunate enough to make it big.”  
  
“I’m not your best success story,” Jun says, though he can feel the tips of his ears heating up. “I’m thirty-five and don’t have my own club. I’m still here.”  
  
“Depends on how you define success,” Ohno tells him as he moves to the next biodata sheet. “You seriously think being a club owner is the end goal for people who enter this business?”  
  
Jun looks at Ohno from head to foot, at the differences in their way of dressing given their positions in this establishment. Ohno can slack off; he can’t. He has to look like his face that’s plastered outside. “Or they find something else to do, something that’s more worthwhile.”  
  
“I like managing Akatsuki,” Ohno says suddenly, seriously. It makes Jun focus on him. “I know it sometimes doesn’t seem so because of the manner I handle things—”  
  
“You mean how Aiba-chan handles things for you,” Jun corrects, and Ohno nods.  
  
“Yeah, that. I honestly can’t see myself continuing this without Aiba-chan; he’s shouldering the hard part. But the recruitment process and the big decisions, he leaves that up to me. He always tells me his job is managing the floor and the floor alone, and whatever happens behind the scenes is my jurisdiction.” Ohno shrugs. “I guess it’s a good balance in a way. We won’t reach this far or operate this long if that’s not a stable working relationship. But I do like what I do or else I would’ve used the money I earned on something else.” He faces Jun. “I like looking after you guys. I know you’re going to say you don’t need looking after unlike the others, but that’s just how it is. After all, I was the one who hired you.”  
  
“Feeling like a parent now, Ohno-san?”  
  
“I am responsible for all of you, no matter what you say,” Ohno says, and it’s true. It’s what Jun’s envious of whenever he seizes the chance to stare at Ohno and pays no mind to his fashion choices: Ohno’s got a reason for staying.  
  
And unlike Jun, Ohno’s needed here. Akatsuki won’t be Akatsuki without Ohno.  
  
Jun looks away to keep his thoughts at bay; he still remembers how Nino staged an intervention so easily the other night. He is transparent if people know where to look and that terrifies him. He won’t ever admit it, but it does.  
  
“Who’s the new responsibility you feel like having out of all these young hopefuls?” he asks casually, and thankfully, Ohno takes the bait.  
  
“Can’t decide between these two,” Ohno replies, handing him the papers, and Jun shifts his attention to the task at hand.  
  
Did he look like this in the photo he submitted? He doesn’t remember if he had the same smile trying to charm whoever’s looking at the shot, if he had the same dedication to be part of something. He just knows he did it to prove something because the rejections from different agencies were getting to him.  
  
Sometimes Jun entertains the thought of him being mortified at the thought of rejection that it’s the one thing that holds him back from trying something else. But he refuses to delve deeper into that well; it’s scary enough as it is.  
  
“Invite them both back,” is what he suggests in the end, lowering both papers. Looking at them only makes the harmful thoughts fester further in his mind.  
  
“All right,” Ohno agrees, and he glances at their left to check the time. “You can grab lunch.”  
  
“Or make one,” Jun says, already standing. “What do you have?”  
  
Ohno shrugs. “Aiba-chan is the one who stocks the kitchen. Sometimes the kids help, but yeah.”  
  
“I’ll use whatever’s available,” Jun says as he leaves, and he catches a glimpse of Ohno’s grateful smile.  
  
“Marry me,” Ohno says, and Jun laughs.  
  
“So you can leave me in charge here while you travel the seas in your boat? So I will lose to the sea? No thanks.”  
  
He’s out of the door when he hears Ohno’s exaggerated sigh, but it still makes him laugh.  
  
\--  
  
Jun has his glasses on when Ohno notifies him of a guest in one of the private rooms. It’s not the nature of Ohno’s message that surprises him but Ohno’s presence himself; usually, it’s Aiba who informs them of such things since he’s the floor manager.  
  
“Important?” he asks out of the corner of his mouth; he’s entertaining a regular tonight.  
  
“Looks like it,” Ohno says.  
  
“Looks like?” Jun repeats. “Did they ask for me?”  
  
“They asked for my best,” Ohno says, then he leans closer, breath fanning against Jun’s ear when he speaks once more. “Fuma’s new boss.”  
  
“Ah,” Jun says, remembering. Then he looks at his client and gives her a reassuring smile. “Send Nino.”  
  
Ohno draws back, looking a bit appalled. Normally, Jun wouldn’t pass up the chance to meet someone who might pay well, but he’s with someone else now.  
  
They can wait their turn.  
  
“All right,” Ohno says, and he leaves without another word.  
  
“Where were we?” Jun asks, and his client flashes a pretty smile at him.  
  
“I thought you were leaving,” she says.  
  
Jun shakes his head. Fuma’s probably with his boss right now, explaining club policies and culture since he’s trying to impress, but Jun doesn’t need to be present for that. Unless it’s him they want, they can go bother someone else. Nino’s as good as him, anyhow. He’s only outselling Nino because Nino refuses to let go of his stupid rule of “one day off every week.”  
  
“I’ll leave when you want somebody else,” he tells her as he refills her glass. “Do you?”  
  
“You’re my favorite, Jun-kun,” she says. “Surely you know that?”  
  
“I’m well aware,” he acknowledges, and out of the corner of his eye, he sees Ohno leaving with Nino.  
  
Their eyes meet and Nino shoots him a questioning look. Jun simply shrugs.  
  
The thing with VIPs is that they do pay well, but they never stick around for long. They easily get bored, and expecting them is like waiting for a job offer that will never come. Jun’s had to entertain high-profile clients before—rich CEOs practically flaunting their money, entrepreneurs who are also big spenders—and they’re all gone now, have moved on. Some of them got married and stopped visiting host clubs entirely, while others simply found younger men to fall in love with and spend money on.  
  
It’s nothing personal. It’s just how things are.  
  
But Jun avoids interacting with them if he could. His regulars are just average people: manga authors, office ladies, and editors. Most of them women. The men are all salarymen, most of them closeted so Jun only meets them in private booths.  
  
But he knows he’s not going into the private room mentioned by Ohno unless with good reason.  
  
Hours pass, and Jun has entertained five tables before Nino reappears on the floor, his eyes set on where Jun stands.  
  
Jun’s taking a break at the bar but has refused to take a seat; he can’t assume a posture that’s too relaxed. Anyone might think he’s slacking off.  
  
“Get in that room,” Nino tells him as soon as he’s close enough. His eyes mean business.  
  
“Why?” Jun asks, tipping the glass of water in his mouth to get rid of the combined taste of beer, vodka, and Scotch.  
  
“Because I’ve been there for the past two hours and they don’t want me,” Nino says. “I know when a client is interested.”  
  
“Of course you do,” Jun says. Nino’s a pro at analyzing body language since he’s been a host for years. He’s just more observant than Jun so it takes him less time to weed out potential clients. “Maybe Fuma’s boss would like Kento instead?”  
  
Nino shakes his head dismissively, almost too quickly. “He’s too old for Kenty. Besides, before Oh-chan approached you, this new guy has met everyone in the top ten except you and me.”  
  
“And with you showing up, that leaves me,” Jun concludes. “New guy, you said?”  
  
“You thought it was a female boss?” Nino smirks. “Why bother get a private room and let your kouhai arrange everything if that were the case?”  
  
Jun takes another sip of his water, attempting to rinse his mouth with it. “I don’t do closeted people, Nino. I’m too old to hold somebody else’s hand for something like this.”  
  
“And no one’s asking you to, J. I’m just telling you to get your uptight ass in that room and show this person that this club has something others don’t,” Nino says. “When I left, Fuma’s still trying to convince him there’s more to this place than just pretty men.”  
  
“So he’s likely a snob who looks down on what we do, is that what you’re telling me?” Jun hates how easy it is to goad him into showing up; Nino knows how much he loves a challenge.  
  
And it’s been too long since he’s encountered one.  
  
“Or just plainly curious,” Nino says, shoulders shrugging. “I don’t know, really. I just know he’s not into me. But he was a good sport and is very good at conversing, so there’s your warning.”  
  
“If he’s not into you, what makes you think he’ll be into me?” Jun asks, just to make things a little difficult for Nino. He’s going in that room, all right. But he’ll annoy Nino first.  
  
“If you’re fishing for compliments, do it inside,” Nino says, an eyebrow quirked. He never falls for any of Jun’s baits, while Jun almost always falls for his. “He’s generous with those. But I think he showered me with them just to be polite.” Nino inclines his head. “He’s too polite.”  
  
“Huh,” Jun says noncommittally, finding that strange. Usually, people with money talk like it. Haughty and arrogant, sometimes rude and never bothering to apologize.  
  
“Think you can crack him?” Nino asks, and Jun really hates him.  
  
He sounds like Toma from that time. Posing a challenge and knowing exactly how Jun will react.  
  
Jun doesn’t reply, instead lowers his glass on the counter and walks towards the direction of the private room.  
  
If Nino’s smirking triumphantly behind him, he doesn’t need to see it.  
  
\--  
  
Three knocks and Jun waits for the “Enter” before twisting the doorknob.  
  
“Excuse the intrusion,” he says, pushing his glasses up his nasal bridge before giving the room’s occupants a good look.  
  
“Jun-kun!” Fuma exclaims in greeting, bowing politely, and Jun immediately shakes his head to dismiss the gesture. He doesn’t miss the stranger watching them intently.  
  
“No need for that,” Jun says. “I know you’re a good kid, but you need to cease doing that every time.”  
  
Fuma looks a little embarrassed, simply nodding before he turns to his companion. “Aniki,” he says, and Jun can hear the admiration from that way of addressing. “Aniki, this is my senpai, Jun-kun.”  
  
Jun feels himself regarded: his appearance, his posture. He knows how he looks; he’s wearing glasses for a more natural vibe and he wonders how this Aniki perceives that.  
  
He gives back, regarding the stranger equally in his pristine black suit and red shirt, red skinny tie accompanying it. He’s got brown hair and cheeks that could use more fat. In appearance alone, he and Jun appear to be of the same age. In clothes, Jun feels a little underdressed in his black coat and sky blue shirt.  
  
Aniki gives an acknowledging nod that gives Jun nothing. “Hello.”  
  
“Hello,” Jun replies back. “May I join you?”  
  
“Please,” Aniki says.  
  
Jun’s not presumptive because he can’t yet read this person properly so he sits across them, not paying any mind to Fuma doing the introductions. Fuma’s currently introducing him as the most popular host of Akatsuki, and he can see how this Aniki digests that information.  
  
The man is still looking at his face.  
  
“Please keep our Fuma in your favor,” he says as soon as Fuma finishes talking. “He can be a little overexcited, but he’s hardworking, dedicated, and a fast learner.”  
  
Aniki gives him a curious look, and Jun waits.  
  
“That’s the first time one of you said that to me,” Aniki says after a moment.  
  
“The guy from earlier didn’t say that?” Jun asks.  
  
“Nino?” Aniki asks. “No. Those weren’t his first words here.”  
  
He doesn’t elaborate, but it matters not. Jun can always ask Nino later to find out if this guy is telling the truth.  
  
“Well, the thought remains,” Jun says. “Please take care of him. He’s young, so we’re all feeling a little overprotective here.”  
  
“He’s very promising,” Aniki says, though he never spares Fuma a glance.  
  
If anything, he’s been looking at Jun this entire time.  
  
“Fuma’s been telling me all about his former job,” Aniki says, his legs now crossed and hands clasped over his thigh. “How it works, how the system is.”  
  
“Is he?” Jun asks, glancing at Fuma for confirmation, who nods once and lowers his head in embarrassment. “I hope he didn’t say anything about the lackluster aspect of what we do.”  
  
“Lackluster? That’s a strange word for it,” Aniki says, head now tilted in interest.  
  
“We’re still human behind the job,” Jun says simply. He wishes he’s got something to drink, but that’s up to the client. Unless the client orders, he can’t partake.  
  
“Fuma-kun,” Aniki says, and it’s the only time he looked away from Jun since Jun entered the room. “How do we order drinks here?”  
  
“Ah, I’ll get them for you, Aniki. What would you like?” Fuma says eagerly, and Jun schools his features to impassiveness despite his surprise threatening to surface.  
  
When he entered this room, there were no indications that the coasters have been used. Meaning, this Aniki hasn’t bothered to order anything until now, relying on service water for the past few hours.  
  
And now he wants one, and apparently, one for Jun as well.  
  
Fuma leaves after reassuring them he’ll put the order in, and Jun waits until the door is firmly shut before he speaks.  
  
“Fuma’s not a champagne guy,” Jun says, because of course, Aniki also ordered for him. He’s kind enough to do that. (Or rich enough, but it really doesn’t matter.)  
  
“No, he isn’t,” Aniki acknowledges. “Neither am I.”  
  
“Did you order for me?” Jun asks bluntly, smoothly. It won’t be the first time a client has done so. “Based on what, my appearance? What I might like? What my face looks like I might like?”  
  
Aniki’s eyes narrow fractionally, and Jun only notices because he’s meeting the man’s stare head-on. “I’ve been told it’s one of your most expensive drinks here.”  
  
“So you think I’m the most popular because I like the expensive drinks?” Jun smiles; his first since he got here. It has the predictable effect of Aniki’s eyes lowering to where his mouth is. “That’s not me. You want the guy earlier.”  
  
“Nino?” Aniki is now nodding. “I see. Well, I’ll keep guessing.” He glances at his watch—a glinting Omega that Jun’s certain costs more than his car—and looks at Jun once more. “Unless you have other places to be?”  
  
No one’s booked Jun yet, and if this guy is purchasing champagne for his first drink, no one can probably outbid him tonight.  
  
“Fuma’s told you how it works, you said?” Jun asks, and Aniki nods. Jun smiles once more. “Not in detail, then, if you don’t know this part.” He gestures to the door. “Someone will knock if I’m needed elsewhere.”  
  
“Needed?” Aniki asks, one of his unruly eyebrows quirked. “I thought you’d say wanted.”  
  
“It depends on who’s asking for me,” Jun says, just as the door opens once more.  
  
Fuma enters, and he’s carrying three flutes of champagne that Jun gives him a disapproving look.  
  
“You don’t need to wait tables anymore,” he chides, and Fuma mumbles a quick apology punctuated with a shy smile. “You’ve graduated from that. You don’t work here anymore.”  
  
“He’s just being polite,” Aniki says, and Jun directs his disapproval at him. Aniki waits until Fuma has the drinks served, and he adds, “But he’s right, Fuma-kun. Let everyone else do their job. Your senpai here was telling me you didn’t divulge things in complete detail.”  
  
“That’s completely my fault, I’m sorry,” Fuma says immediately, and Jun wants to smack the back of his head for being unable to take a joke.  
  
Aniki laughs though, lines now surrounding his eyes. He seems quick to laugh, given how easily his face transformed into sheer joy just now. “Relax. It’s nothing big. Your senpai here is not a champagne person.”  
  
Jun hardly thinks Fuma knows what he prefers to drink. Everybody believes it’s wine, but wine is for when he’s at home, alone and talking to his beloved bonsai.  
  
“Jun-kun’s someone we all look up to,” Fuma says. “I never really mastered how to hold my alcohol, but I don’t think I’ve seen Jun-kun drunk. He may not be a champagne person, but he’s sold a lot of champagne towers than anyone else here.”  
  
Jun waves off the compliments; that should be obvious anyway, given his position in the club. You only remain on top if clients are ready to part with hard cash with every visit.  
  
“In any case, I propose a toast,” Aniki says, lifting his flute, and Jun and Fuma mimic him. “To my first experience in a host club.”  
  
Jun clinks their glasses together but doesn’t drink. Not yet. “Surely you’ve been to other clubs before?”  
  
“But not like this,” Aniki says, like it’s supposed to mean something.  
  
As Jun tips the flute against his mouth, he starts looking for clues. The suit definitely hints about a big-time job, but he never really asked. The watch signifies wealth, perhaps enjoyed since birth. The face is someone Jun’s seen before, and when it clicks, he makes sure he has his glass lowered on the table.  
  
“Is it wise for a junior politician to visit a host club?” he asks, and Aniki laughs. The name still eludes him; he never cared about politics unless it’s the national one.  
  
“Not when it’s done in secret and in good fun,” Aniki says with a smile. It’s definitely made for posters and internet slogans. “Not to worry; my staff knows we’re here. It doesn’t affect my candidacy because I haven’t filed it yet.”  
  
Jun catches on to that last bit and rectifies his mistake. “Aspiring junior politician, is it? No wonder you were given this room.”  
  
“Is it your best one?” Aniki asks.  
  
“No, but it’s pretty soundproof and the security cameras’ footage are deleted hourly for privacy,” Jun says. He’s been in this room only twice, both with big-time clients who never stuck around for long. “Also, it’s no longer surprising that this is your first host club experience.”  
  
“I’ve been to Ni-chome, though,” Aniki says, and Jun’s thankful he’s swallowed his drink. Fuma has just spat his and Aniki only offers the nearest piece of tissue paper to him.  
  
People don’t usually admit that so casually. Jun looks at Aniki in disbelief and distrust; either he’s making a joke out of it or he’s simply telling the truth.  
  
But why?  
  
“A friend brought me there just to show me ‘how it is from our side,’ she said,” Aniki explains calmly, like nothing is odd about this conversation at all. “I was young then, still in college. So no repercussions, I guess.”  
  
“And now? Being here might get tabloids talking if they catch you,” Jun says.  
  
Aniki nods. “I’m aware.” He doesn’t sound angry at Jun for stating the obvious; in fact, Jun can’t pinpoint what his tone implies.  
  
Nino did tell him this man is good at talking, but Jun didn’t expect someone this good, this unpredictable.  
  
He feels a little thrown off. It’s unlike his first experience with his other clients; this man doesn’t openly adore him and seems genuinely curious. Jun’s former experience with first timers all involved the element of attraction by his side—since they were attracted to him, they were easier to manipulate.  
  
It’s probably the wrong word to describe it, but it’s the truth.  
  
But this man—this Aniki—Jun can’t figure him out. Nino could easily tell the man wasn’t interested in him because he didn’t earn the privilege of sharing a drink with him. But Jun did, and Jun can’t tell if Aniki is indulging Jun or himself.  
  
Or Fuma, for that matter. The kid looks like he’s beyond thrilled that his adored senpai is finally getting the experience he must’ve bragged about.  
  
“I’ve been to Ni-chome,” Jun chooses to say, which earns Fuma’s shock and piques Aniki’s interest. “Though it wasn’t for an informative experience like yours.”  
  
Aniki regards him, not too different from what he’s been doing earlier when Jun entered the room. “To see how that side lives?”  
  
“No,” is all Jun says. He knows how that side lives; he has every single day and an empty apartment to show for it.  
  
“So what brings you to Akatsuki?” Jun asks instead, when the silence has lingered and it became clear that Fuma’s run out of things to say. “Aside from your kouhai pestering you, of course.”  
  
Fuma looks embarrassed then, and Jun smiles.  
  
Aniki pats one of Fuma’s shoulders. “He can be a pushover sometimes, but no harm done. I was truly interested when he told me used to be number seven in the popularity ranking here. You were popular, weren’t you, Fuma?”  
  
“Not as popular as Jun-kun,” Fuma says sheepishly, and Aniki’s eyes move to meet his once more.  
  
“Are you finding it weird that someone in my age is still the top host of this establishment?” Jun asks, just to make things easier. That’s what every first timer wonders about.  
  
“I used to,” Aniki replies, and he’s good with the subtle flirting, Jun will give him that. He’s matching Jun’s pace without difficulty, keeping himself indecipherable when Jun’s beginning to think he has him figured out.  
  
“Usually,” Jun begins, “people’s next question is when do I plan to retire.”  
  
“Do you?” Aniki asks, cool as ever.  
  
“I’m thirty-five,” Jun says. “That’s old according to the standards of millenials.”  
  
“So being thirty-seven makes me old?” Aniki asks.  
  
Jun pretends to think about it, but the conversation is going the way he wants. He knows what to say. “Depends on the job concerned.” He tips his champagne flute against his mouth and takes a gracious sip. “You’re young if we’re looking at politics.”  
  
“Aspiring junior politician, you said,” Aniki tells him, smiling. “You don’t sugarcoat your thoughts, do you?”  
  
“Did you come here for sugarcoating?” Jun asks. “You didn’t give that impression.”  
  
“And what impression did I give?” All of Aniki’s focus is on him now, and Jun kind of feels bad for Fuma who completely adores this guy.  
  
“You want to see how this side works,” Jun says, nodding at Fuma. “That’s why you’re here: you wanted to see how it was for your kouhai before, perhaps to understand him a little better. It tells me you’re a responsible man, ready to look after those who work with you, and maybe even those whom you work for. The right attitude for politics, I guess.” Another sip of champagne and Jun looks at him once more. “You didn’t come to hear me prettify my thoughts and my observations. You came because you want to observe, to gain intel, so to speak.” He crosses his legs and leans back against the plush cushions. “I’m just an additional merit to the experience. But my presence won’t affect your perceptions either way; you’ve already made up your mind before I even entered this room.”  
  
Decoration, Ohno once said jokingly, but right now, that’s exactly what Jun is.  
  
“And what is it that I’ve decided on?” Aniki asks patiently, indulgently. He’s probably excellent at public speaking.  
  
Jun shrugs for effect. “Staying,” he says, gesturing around them. “You were wondering if this would bore you, except it didn’t. It showed you a glimpse of Fuma’s life before, and now you’re curious. Have you asked why he left?”  
  
“I did,” Aniki says, and Fuma beside him nods as well. “I interviewed him personally. I guess that’s why I’m here: I did what to find out what it was like. I never allowed myself to have a part-time job when I was in university, you see.”  
  
“And what did you find out tonight?” Jun asks, throwing back the question. He wonders what the nine people ahead of him did inside this room and how come they weren’t able to convince this guy to buy a drink.  
  
It’s right there if one knows where to look: Aniki is someone who likes to be praised. Whether subtle or not, it works for him. Jun’s comment on his work etiquette brought a particular glint in his eye, and Jun has seen that before.  
  
“That you’re not a champagne person,” Aniki says with a grin. “White wine, maybe?”  
  
Their glasses are empty, and Jun nods at Fuma, who eagerly puts in the order.  
  
“Don’t you dare bring those drinks here,” Jun warns, just before he leaves. Fuma promises he won’t, and the door shuts once more.  
  
“I let Fuma take his pick of the drinks; he’s more knowledgeable in this field,” Aniki says. “So it’s white wine?”  
  
“No,” Jun says. The corresponding furrow between Aniki’s untrimmed eyebrows is worth it. “I thought you just wanted white wine this time.”  
  
“You said you go where you’re needed or wanted, depending on the client,” Aniki says.  
  
“Good memory,” Jun comments, letting a smirk form on his lips. He takes a good look at Aniki, at how sharply-dressed he is. He’s attractive, Jun will admit. He’s got shapely lips that’ll be the envy of many if he’s working here.  
  
“So you were really going with what you thought I wanted?” Aniki asks.  
  
Jun tilts his head in mock thought. “Or what Fuma wanted. He likes white wine.”  
  
“Ah,” Aniki says, nodding. “I’ll remember you said that. But since this is another miss, I figure I’m free to guess again?”  
  
Jun laughs. “Usually, you finish the drinks before you order another.”  
  
“Don’t worry, I plan to finish the wine,” Aniki assures him. “You’re not a champagne person or a wine person.”  
  
“No,” Jun says.  
  
“Cognac, maybe?”  
  
Jun grins. “You want to get Fuma drunk?”  
  
“I find that my staff are more honest with me when they’re completely out of it,” Aniki says. “And I do need their honesty; most of the time they see things that aren’t there.”  
  
“You think Fuma can be the same?”  
  
“He has potential,” Aniki says. “I like that about him.”  
  
“He adores you,” Jun says. “You and I see it clearly: he’ll do anything you ask for.”  
  
“I don’t plan to abuse that knowledge though,” Aniki says. “In case you’re thinking that’s what I’ll do once things become comfortable for him.”  
  
“Really?” Jun asks, eyes narrowing. “You’ve been spoiling him by agreeing to come here.”  
  
“I thought hosts—or former hosts, that is—like to be spoiled rotten,” Aniki says. “Is that wrong?”  
  
Jun pauses, thinking about it. “Not Fuma,” he says in the end, certain of it. Fuma enjoyed his own clientele here, but he never reached the popularity of Kento. Then again, it’s hard to tell because when Fuma was in Akatsuki, he was the recipient of the adoration and not the one giving it. “Well, not by clients. With you, I think it’s a special case for him.”  
  
“And you? Do you like to be spoiled?” Aniki asks, and Jun can’t figure out his tone. There’s no palpable judgement in it and it throws Jun off because that’s what he’s been expecting to hear all this time. Should the conversation reach this point (and it did), Jun’s expecting the judgement, the preaching, and perhaps the false pity masked as concern.  
  
But there’s no trace of any of that in Aniki’s tone; it’s like he’s merely asking Jun what day is it today.  
  
Jun opens his mouth but Fuma chooses that moment to return to the room, reassuring them that the drinks will be delivered as soon as they’re ready.  
  
“Have you taken your pick from Aiba-chan’s stock?” Jun asks, all too aware of Aniki’s eyes on him.  
  
“Aiba-kun’s got new ones I haven’t tasted before; it was a little hard to choose,” Fuma says. To Aniki: “I’m sorry, Aniki. I may have picked an expensive one.”  
  
“Should I deduct it from your salary?” Aniki asks, and Fuma lets out a gasp of horror. Aniki laughs then. “I’m kidding. But when it’s payday, you can treat me some time.”  
  
“Anywhere,” Fuma promises, and Jun shakes his head as he smiles. He was right: Fuma likes being spoiled by someone he admires. If it’s the other way around, he feels awkward.  
  
Aniki seems to reach the same conclusion, throwing Jun a knowing look. “Are hosts usually this good at reading people or does it stem from years of experience?”  
  
Fuma looks confused, frowning now, while Aniki adds, “Your senpai here just accurately predicted your behavior.”  
  
“Jun-kun’s pretty observant; it’s what most of us kouhais admire about him,” Fuma says. “He pays attention to the details. Has an eye for them.”  
  
“Focused,” Aniki says. “Yes, I’ve noticed.” He leans back, the posture radiating openness and vulnerability, and Jun frowns. “Read me.”  
  
“I’ve just read you a while ago and hit the mark already,” Jun reminds him. “What else is there?”  
  
“More,” Aniki says confidently. “How bad is your eyesight?”  
  
Jun blinks; that’s a question no one’s asked him before even when he wears glasses. Usually, they’re too busy swooning about it.  
  
Before he can respond, however, Aniki grins. “Doesn’t matter.” And for the second time: “Read me.”  
  
Jun waits for the white wine to arrive before he does, and he scans Aniki’s form once again to reorganize his observations earlier.  
  
“You’re not afraid,” is what he says in the end; it’s the most surprising thought that comes to him when he looks again.  
  
“Of what?” Aniki asks, though it’s as if a smile is already threatening to form on his lips.  
  
“Of being discovered here,” Jun says. “Is that wrong?”  
  
Aniki straightens in his seat, picking up with glass of wine. “Fuma,” he says, and Fuma perks up, “your senpai is no joke, isn’t he?”  
  
Jun doesn’t understand where the bravery comes from. Maybe it’s because Fuma’s here should a snooping paparazzi pop up and he can easily brush off the intrusive questions with replies like “I’ve accompanied my kouhai to visit his old friends,” and that’ll be the end of that.  
  
But it doesn’t seem so, not with the way Aniki is holding himself. His posture is too relaxed but also composed, like he’s got nothing to hide at all despite booking a private room. Jun didn’t even see them come through the front doors which means they used the back, and all of those facts combined simply don’t add up.  
  
Aniki’s confident and unafraid, but Jun is yet to find out _why_.  
  
And it unsettles him because usually, spending time this long with a client gives him enough to make the rest of the night run smoothly and as predicted. But he can’t predict tonight and he dislikes the feeling; he’s never liked being unprepared.  
  
“And I told you before, Aniki, that Jun-kun is the best that we have here,” Fuma brags, and Jun glances at him to check how tipsy he is. He’s always been a fast drinker.  
  
“You get a few years to talk to people and it’s all the same,” Jun says dismissively.  
  
“No it isn’t,” Aniki says quickly, and now he has all of Jun’s attention. “How many people deliberately presented themselves to you for you to psychoanalyze them?”  
  
“Usually, the psychoanalyzing is done internally and not verbally revealed,” Jun says.  
  
“And yet you said them,” Aniki says.  
  
“Because you asked for them,” Jun points out.  
  
“Yes, I did,” Aniki acknowledges. “But you could’ve lied.” He smiles. “Surely you’ve lied more than once in this job. But you haven’t when I asked.”  
  
“I don’t when I don’t think it’s necessary,” Jun says. “Something tells me you’re not here to fish for compliments. You like being complimented—that’s obvious—but only when the adjectives are true. If not, you’ve got no time for them.”  
  
Aniki smiles, done so slowly that Jun is a bit wary of what he might say next.  
  
“Ever considered entering politics?”  
  
That earns one of Jun’s laughs, half done out of relief, the other out of amusement. “I’m afraid I don’t have the dedication needed for public service.”  
  
“But you’ve got a mind that’s good for it,” Aniki says. They’ve all finished the white wine, and Jun waits for what he’ll order next. “I’ve been trying to figure out what kind of drink you like and still haven’t decided on anything.”  
  
Jun leans back, mimicking Aniki’s posture from earlier. He knows Aniki’s expecting the words when he says them next.  
  
“Read me.”  
  
Aniki laughs, but his eyes have changed: he’s taking the challenge for what it is. He’s not sidestepping, instead observing what Jun is offering willingly.  
  
Because he observes; he doesn’t merely look. He’s adept at speaking because he thinks about what to say before he says them, which is how he differs from Jun. Jun expresses his thoughts without trying to rephrase them; he’s always been a vocal one.  
  
But Aniki, he thinks before he opens his mouth. It’s how he easily picks up Jun’s cues, allowing Jun to navigate the conversation to his comfort. He’s good at playing along, and Jun wonders what it’ll be like if Aniki’s the one holding the reins.  
  
“Scotch, then,” Aniki says, and Fuma stands, almost automatically. “And get yourself something you like, Fuma.”  
  
“Thank you, Aniki,” Fuma says, excusing himself, and Jun is once again alone with Aniki.  
  
“Scotch,” Jun repeats. “Fancy.”  
  
“Not your thing, then? Another miss,” Aniki says.  
  
“Close,” Jun says. “I do like it on certain occasions.”  
  
“But not what you’ll order for yourself given the chance,” Aniki says.  
  
“Why not give me the chance, then?”  
  
Aniki’s eyebrows lift. “And ruin the fun?”  
  
“To make things easier,” Jun says.  
  
“That’s boring,” Aniki tells him. “I feel like if I let you, you’ll either choose what you truly like or you’ll indulge me, and I’ll never be able to tell which is it exactly.”  
  
“Did you come here to figure out Fuma’s senpai?” he asks.  
  
“Unintentionally, I assure you,” Aniki says. Despite how their conversation is turning, he’s still so polite. It’s one of the reasons why Jun willingly stayed in this room with him. Aniki makes assumptions, but he acknowledges the lines he can’t cross.  
  
To Jun, that’s a rarity. Most people who come to host clubs think they’re free to ask for anything since they’re paying. That’s true, depending on how young the host is. But now that Jun’s pretty much established, no one can ask him to share their chopsticks anymore.  
  
“It’s not Scotch,” Jun says to give Aniki a bit of reprieve. “But I appreciate your dedication.”  
  
“Then, will you enjoy the Scotch with me?”  
  
“And Fuma? Of course,” Jun says, glancing at his watch.  
  
It’s been hours. Longer than Nino has spent in this room. And Akatsuki will be closing in the next hour.  
  
“You stayed the entire night,” Jun notes.  
  
“Was that unexpected? Surely you’ve had politicians here before,” Aniki says. Then he seems to remember something. “Ah, I meant ‘aspiring junior politicians’, but you get the idea.”  
  
Jun chuckles. “You’re never forgetting that.”  
  
“No,” Aniki affirms. “Normally, when people find out what I do for a living, they switch to keigo.”  
  
“Should I?” Jun offers sincerely, but Aniki is quick to shake his head.  
  
“I prefer this,” Aniki says. “You do follow what your client prefers, right?”  
  
“Follow is a word I won’t use,” Jun says, “but the thought’s the same.”  
  
“My apologies,” Aniki says, and he looks sincerely regretful. “I hope I didn’t offend you.”  
  
Jun waves off the apology. “But you’re right: I do what I think my client wants me to do.” He peers at Aniki’s face, something he’s unlikely to forget after tonight. “Anything in particular you want?”  
  
“Aside from sharing the Scotch?” Aniki asks.  
  
Jun smiles. “Aside from that.”  
  
“Your favorite food,” Aniki says, which in so unexpected that it makes Jun frown.  
  
Not because he hasn’t gotten the question before, but because he doesn’t understand the point of the question. With other clients, he knows it’s them trying to get to know him because they like him enough.  
  
With this man—Jun is uncertain.  
  
“Anago,” Jun says.  
  
“Anago,” Aniki repeats, nodding. “Does the presentation matter? Sushi? Or on top of a rice bowl?”  
  
“Either,” Jun says. “If it’s anago, I’ll eat it.”  
  
“Anago,” Aniki says again, and Jun quirks an eyebrow when he laughs. “Sorry; I’m not laughing at you. I just find it cute.”  
  
“Cute?” Jun’s only heard Ohno use that for him.  
  
Whatever response Aniki has for that is cut off by the opening of the door which reveals not only Fuma but also Ohno.  
  
Jun directs his arched eyebrow at the sight of Ohno, who doesn’t look at him.  
  
“Thank you for spending the night with us, Sakurai-san,” Ohno says politely, extending a hand which is freely accepted. “I hope you enjoyed your stay.”  
  
“I did, thank you very much,” Aniki says. “And it’s Sho. I would rather not be addressed by my surname, if that’s all right.”  
  
“Of course,” Ohno says, bowing once more. “My apologies if I crossed the line; I only realize my mistake just now.”  
  
Sakurai. Of course. Jun wants to laugh; he knows the name.  
  
Fuma’s beloved Aniki is a Sakurai, undoubtedly the son of that Sakurai who’s Vice Minister in some highly important department in the current administration.  
  
The son who’s undoubtedly following the footsteps of the renowned father. It’s how Jun knows him; he’s heard about the father bragging about his son in some documentary he watched idly. The promising son with big aspirations, starting small and somewhere not in Tokyo for him to pave his own way.  
  
And he spent, what, five hours of the night flirting back and forth with Jun?  
  
It’s unthinkable, but it’s true. Then it hits Jun: it’s where the confidence was coming from. Why he wasn’t afraid to be discovered in such an establishment.  
  
No one would believe it.  
  
Aniki—Sho shakes his head as a response to Ohno’s apology. “I understand that it’s the norm here, but I’m afraid I’m not the conventional type of customer.” He looks past Ohno, at the drinks brought by Fuma.  
  
“I insisted,” Fuma says by way of an explanation, perhaps out of fear that Jun will comment on it again. “And Ohno-kun allowed it; the fewer people to come in here, the better.”  
  
“Helping me with my discretion already?” Sho asks, delighted. “Thank you.”  
  
Fuma hands him the first glass, the next glass to Jun, and Ohno bows once more.  
  
“We hope to see you again,” Ohno says, but it’s his standard line for first timers. “Please excuse me.”  
  
“Thank you for the hospitality, Ohno-san,” Sho says just before the door closes. When it does, he looks at Jun and offers a toast.  
  
“To what?” Jun asks; his throat feels a little dry since he pieced things together.  
  
“To my eventful first night in a host club,” Sho says, smiling. Their glasses clink and Jun takes a whiff of the Scotch before he decides he can down it all in one go.  
  
He does, and he catches Sho looking at him in disbelief. “Didn’t think I could do it?”  
  
“For a non-Scotch person, you drank that impressively,” Sho says.  
  
“I did say I like it on certain occasions,” Jun says.  
  
“Do you like it now?” Sho asks seriously, eyes never straying from Jun’s.  
  
Jun merely gestures to the empty glass, letting Sho interpret that one on his own. Sho laughs, and it’s the kind of carefree, infectious laugh that Jun will likely repeat in his head once this is over.  
  
He hates it already. How predictable he is for himself, how inevitable things seem.  
  
Sho downs his drink in one go once he realizes Fuma hasn’t gotten one for himself even when ordered to (perhaps he’s being polite or he’s afraid he won’t get to drive himself home), face wincing at the burn. Jun’s had years of practice to make it look easy, but it’s interesting to see how Sho’s face contorts to a different expression once the alcohol hits him.  
  
When they look at one another once more, Jun’s positive they’re thinking of the same thing.  
  
The night is over.  
  
None of them get to say a word when there’s a knock on the door before a muffled “Excuse the intrusion” is uttered. The door opens, and Sho nods at the stranger entering the room.  
  
“This is my driver, Ueda-kun,” Sho introduces, and Jun merely inclines his head in polite greeting. He doesn’t see why he has to know; it’s not like they’re coming back to Akatsuki. “Is it time?”  
  
“Yes, Sho-kun,” Ueda says, and Sho nods before he stands. Jun mimics him, straightening his jacket, his pants. When Jun lifts his gaze, he finds himself scanning Sho from head to foot and back up.  
  
He’s still overdressed, Jun thinks, but then again, he’s a politician. He looks like it in every aspect: the hair, the smile, the posture. He’s looking at Jun like he wants to say something, and Jun waits.  
  
“Thank you for tonight,” is all Sho says in the end, and Jun returns the words politely. It’s scripted for him; he’s had to say it for years.  
  
Ueda leaves first, holding the door open for Sho, but Sho lets Fuma go ahead of him before he rounds the table and approaches the exit.  
  
Jun is leaning against the wall now, close to the doorframe, his arms crossed over his chest. He assumes a relaxed posture now that they’re leaving, and he gives Fuma a final, acknowledging nod before he moves his gaze to Sho.  
  
“It’s whiskey,” Jun says when Sho’s close enough, and he wills himself not to smile when Sho’s eyes widen in surprise.  
  
He smells good. Refreshing, like he just stepped out of an onsen or a shower and is yet to towel off. Jun can’t define it exactly, but he smells nothing like the alcohol they drank together.  
  
“Whiskey,” Sho repeats quietly, smiling. “All right.”  
  
He leaves, and Jun stares at the used coasters for a moment before he departs the room as well.  
  
\--  
  
He corners Ohno before he goes home, giving Ohno this unamused look while Ohno picks at his nose with abandon.  
  
“Really, Leader? A politician?”  
  
Ohno looks unbothered. “Technically, he isn’t one yet. He is yet to file for candidacy. And if he does, it’s not that big of a position.” Ohno eyes him curiously. “Just a councillor in Gunma. As if you never entertained a politician before.”  
  
“That was different,” Jun says, and Ohno’s eyebrows lift in surprise.  
  
“How?”  
  
Jun will die before he elaborates, so he just shakes his head and swings his bag over his shoulder. “Well it’s not like they’re coming back.”  
  
Ohno frowns. “What makes you say so?”  
  
Jun shrugs. “I just know.”  
  
Ohno’s grinning now, and Jun holds up a finger before he can open his mouth.  
  
“Am I going to hate what you’re about to say?” he asks warily.  
  
“Probably,” Ohno says truthfully.  
  
“Then I don’t want to hear it,” Jun says, pushing past him to reach the back door.  
  
“Nino was bitter, which is why he left early,” Ohno calls out after him. Jun attempts to tune him out to no avail, because he continues, “Though he keeps saying he shouldn’t have bothered.”  
  
“I won, that’s what happened here,” Jun says when he has the door open and has one foot past the threshold. “He can stay in second place and enjoy the view of my back.”  
  
“You guys are so weird,” Ohno says, but he’s laughing as he waves his hand in farewell.  
  
Jun flutters his fingers in return and proceeds to walk towards the train station.  
  
\--  
  
“So,” Nino begins, when they both have time to spare since it’s fifteen minutes till the club opens. It’s the first time he’s found a way to corner Jun after Fuma’s visit.  
  
“So,” Jun says.  
  
“What’s it like having a politician stroke your ego?” Nino asks bluntly. “Nothing like a good reminder that you’ve still got it compared to everyone else around here, I imagine.”  
  
Jun makes an unamused face. “It’s not like he’s coming back.”  
  
“You think he won’t?” Nino asks, facing him.  
  
“I know he won’t,” Jun says. “He’s got better things to do than pay a visit to a host club because his kouhai wouldn’t shut up about it.”  
  
“Why, you know him so well already,” Nino says, grinning. “Of course you do; you’re the only one who ended up making him drink for the rest of the night. Aiba-shi was thrilled, by the way. He bought the pricey ones.”  
  
“You mean Fuma picked the pricey ones,” Jun says, and they both laugh. “He let Fuma choose.”  
  
“Either he’s incredibly wealthy or he just doesn’t care because he’s goddamn wealthy,” Nino says, shaking his head. “Don’t you hate people with money?”  
  
Jun has a perfectly arched eyebrow directed at Nino now. “As if you do.”  
  
“I hate them if they don’t spend it on me,” Nino clarifies. “But I’ll let you have this one, Jun-kun.”  
  
There’s something in his tone that makes Jun look back to all other conversations they’ve had in the past, and when it clicks, he grins.  
  
“Your client who drinks like a demon came back?” he asks knowingly.  
  
“Is coming back tonight,” Nino corrects. “Prepare to be outsold tonight, Matsumoto. I plan to make him drink as much as he wants.”  
  
Nino pats his knee affectionately before he stands, and Jun only shakes his head at his antics. Everything’s a competition for him, but that’s because he’s giving Jun something to focus on. Indirectly, it’s Nino’s way of looking out for him and he appreciates it.  
  
It’s been a few days since Fuma’s visit with Sakurai Sho, and Jun would never admit it out loud but he’s been thinking about that night whenever he finds time to himself. At home, while watering his plants in the veranda, while idly watching each spin of the washing machine.  
  
He knows he’s made an impression on Sakurai Sho that night, but what’s quite unbelievable for him is the fact that it’s mutual, that he does wonder from time to time if Sho will come back to Akatsuki, if it’ll be in the same private room with his adoring kouhai in tow to act as a buffer.  
  
Jun lets out a breath and dismisses such thoughts; there’s no point in wondering about something he’ll never have answers to unless they happen. It’s been too long since a client has piqued his interest like this, but he has a self-imposed rule that he refuses to break.  
  
He follows after Nino when he’s got mere minutes left before Ohno or Aiba comes to collect him, and the rest of the night happens like the others before it: nothing eventful, nothing noteworthy, save for that impressive display of athleticism one of his kouhais did for thirty thousand yen.  
  
Youth, Jun thinks, shaking his head. He’ll never be that impulsive, not at this age.  
  
When he goes home that morning, he feels unsettled that he ends up changing his living room curtains twice and his bed sheets thrice. It’s not that they’re dirty; he simply can’t decide. He arranges and rearranges his collection of Hollywood DVDs and moves to his bookshelf next, until he decides he should sleep.  
  
He’s in bed when he realizes it’s been years since he felt this, which is why he was unable to define it at first: he’s disappointed, and he can’t pinpoint why and it irks him.  
  
His sleep for that morning is fitful, and it becomes a cycle for the rest of the week that he ends up requiring more foundation to conceal the bags under his eyes.  
  
Nino snickers when he finds out. He’s got excellent, almost entirely unblemished skin unlike Jun, and Jun’s a little envious at his fortune. He weathers through Nino’s teasing laughs while he presses the sponge against his face.  
  
“Why are you so vain lately?” Nino asks, then he takes the sponge from Jun and helps Jun apply the powder evenly. “Are you preparing for something?”  
  
“No,” Jun says, a little too quickly, and Nino just smiles.  
  
“Rule of the job, J: don’t get too attached,” Nino says, then he hooks a finger under Jun’s chin to see his face better. “You’re handsome enough; no need for more.”  
  
“I’m not attached,” Jun denies, and Nino smiles. “I’m just curious.”  
  
“That goes a long way,” Nino reminds him.  
  
“As if you’ve never been curious about a client before,” Jun points out.  
  
“Oh I have,” Nino affirms. “I’m curious about one now. But not to the point others see it, too.”  
  
“I see it,” Jun says, and Nino laughs.  
  
“Of course you do,” Nino says, unsurprised. “I see you too.” Nino uses his thumb to even out the powder dusted on Jun’s cheekbone. “But we can’t. You know that. We’re not really who our clients think we are.”  
  
Unless we choose to show them who we are, Jun thinks.  
  
He lets Nino fuss with him a little and sticks to silence, until he feels like himself again that he’s ready to step out for another night.  
  
\--  
  
It’s the season so Jun inconveniently gets hay fever, and because Ohno knows that he and Aiba are the vulnerable ones, Jun’s not allowed on the floor that night.  
  
He dons one of Aiba’s extra uniforms and helps around the bar instead, and it’s all up to his kouhais to explain his situation. Some of his regulars buy him a drink before leaving, wishing for him to get better soon, and Jun smiles at them in thanks as he watches them go.  
  
“Is this okay?” he asks Aiba as they wipe some of the bottles on the rack so they shine under the light. “You’re losing money with me here.”  
  
“Nonsense,” Aiba says, laughing, but his cold has changed his voice a little. “You can take a break, Matsujun, it’s totally okay. Besides, some of them are still buying you a drink even if you’re currently unavailable. And since we’re both sick, I could totally use a helping hand.”  
  
Jun knows of Aiba’s job as floor manager only in flashes, whenever he gets the chance to sit around the bar until a client asks for his company. Tonight, he’s seeing it in person, experiencing an aspect of it.  
  
Aiba keeps tabs on the drinks served by the actual bartenders by scanning the shelves once in a while. Each drink dispensed is noted along with which table it goes to, and Aiba then looks at the current floor situation thanks to the cameras planted all over the club. The screen is hidden from view since it’s situated under the bar counter, and Aiba uses that to his advantage.  
  
He speaks to the waiters via the Bluetooth device attached to his ear once he notices that the drinks on one table have been ignored for too long, and a waiter automatically steps in so the drinks don’t go to waste.  
  
It’s efficient, systematic, and Jun can only keep up because Aiba’s entrusted him with one thing only: to watch the shelves. If a bottle gets pulled from the shelf, Jun has to note what bottle it is using the log in the laptop the club uses. The prices automatically get filled in their corresponding box, and Jun turns over the details to Aiba, who follows where the drinks go via the cameras and adds it as a note in the log.  
  
Jun wonders how Aiba was able to keep up during the nights he and Nino are being assholes trying to outdo one another.  
  
“I guess I’m not included in your logbook for tonight?” he asks when he sees the worn out notebook that Aiba uses to manually record the top performers each night.  
  
“You are,” Aiba says. “You still sold a few drinks.”  
  
“Fewer than Yamada though,” Jun notes; the kid is on his second glass of Don Perignon from the same client. Jun won’t be surprised if he becomes number four this month.  
  
“You can take a night off and let the kids breathe,” Aiba says with a laugh. The bar is somewhat concealed from view thanks to the dim lighting and the elaborate decor, situated strategically behind posts so no one could clearly see who was manning the counter.  
  
The bartenders are all younger than Jun, so they still incline their heads in polite greeting when Jun steps forward to check the shelves. He’s trying to commit their proper arrangement to memory when he hears someone clear his throat from the counter.  
  
Looking over his shoulder reveals Ohno, who’s at an unusual spot. He’s at the corner when he normally just enters the bar from the side to check how the night’s going via Aiba’s logs.  
  
It’s then Jun notices Ohno’s left, that someone’s been seated there the entire time and he’s not one of hosts of the Akatsuki.  
  
Why is he here?  
  
Jun approaches, having nothing else to do. He waits for the silence to stretch before he speaks.  
  
“Can I get you a drink?” he asks as any bartender would, except this isn’t the stereotypical bar and customers aren’t normally allowed here. But Ohno has to make an exception given who this person is.  
  
“Whiskey,” Sho says, dressed in a silver jacket and a white shirt that has the top button undone. He has an arm draped on the counter’s smooth surface, the other with his phone in hand.  
  
One of the bartenders fills in that order just as Jun glances at Ohno for an explanation.  
  
“I told him you were sick,” Ohno says, and Jun wishes he revealed such things in private instead. Not with Sho present, but Sho looks like he doesn’t mind. “And currently unavailable. But he still asked, so.”  
  
“So you showed him to the bar where we don’t usually allow clients,” Jun finishes. He faces Sho. “Some special treatment you’re receiving, Sho-san.”  
  
“I wasn’t pushing it,” Sho says, and he politely thanks the bartender when his drink is handed to him. “Ohno-san was just being kind, as always.”  
  
Or he wants you to come back so he’s doing all he can, Jun doesn’t say.  
  
Ohno reaches over the counter to pat his shoulder twice, then he leaves. Jun doesn’t watch him go, instead eyeing Sho’s whiskey and wondering why he isn’t drinking it.  
  
Until the bartender from earlier returns and has a drink placed right in front of Jun.  
  
Jun frowns at it, turning to the bartender for an explanation, except Sho speaks.  
  
“Whiskey, you said,” Sho says, and he’s smiling like nothing is amiss.  
  
Jun takes it, figuring it’ll be rude if he doesn’t. Sakurai Sho is probably Ohno’s latest special customer so he has to behave. VIPs are usually worth the effort.  
  
“I’m not on the floor right now,” Jun says anyway, just so it’s out there. “Technically, I’m not allowed to share a drink with anyone.”  
  
“Then let’s make an exception,” Sho says simply, because that’s exactly what they’re doing already, thanks to Ohno’s leniency.  
  
“No Fuma in tow?” Jun asks after a moment.  
  
“He’s working overtime,” Sho explains. “He’s very industrious. He makes mistakes, but he’s always willing to learn, and when I ask for a few changes, he gets them done quickly.”  
  
“I’m glad to know he’s of use to you,” Jun says, which is a standard response to a thing he’s not interested in.  
  
“Are you really sick?” is what Sho asks next, and Jun looks at him in disbelief.  
  
“Why? Because I don’t look like it?”  
  
Sho smiles. “Aside from the slight change in voice, I can’t really tell.” He’s stroking the rim of his glass now, the sight a little distracting. “No glasses this time?”  
  
“I don’t usually wear them when I’m here,” Jun says. “That night was an exception because my contacts haven’t arrived yet.” Jun’s eyes narrow in thought. “Unless you’re going to request?”  
  
“I thought you’re officially not on the floor and hence unavailable for tonight?” Sho asks.  
  
“I thought this was an exception,” Jun points out.  
  
Sho’s fingers are drumming an unfamiliar rhythm against the polished wood now, and he looks at Jun like he’s wondering how truthful the offer is.  
  
“You change your appearance when a client asks you to?” is the question that comes after a moment.  
  
“Sometimes,” Jun says vaguely.  
  
Sho tilts his head. “Depending on?”  
  
“What I get in return,” Jun says.  
  
Sho laughs, and because they’re closer than last time, Jun notices he’s got an imperfect set of bottom teeth, but his full lips make up for it. “Spoiled,” Sho remarks, and he seems utterly pleased at the thought. “You refused to answer this the last time, but you are spoiled.” He looks up at Jun, amusement on his features. “You always get what you want, don’t you?”  
  
“Most of the time,” Jun says, and it’s the truth.  
  
Sho hums, and he reaches to his side before lifting a paper bag and sliding it across the counter.  
  
Jun can make out the characters for Jiro on the surface despite the dim lighting, and he looks at Sho in confusion.  
  
“What you get in return, you said,” Sho says, and Jun sighs in defeat before reaching inside to find out what it is.  
  
He pulls out a box and sets it down before opening it, and he snorts in laughter when he sees what’s inside.  
  
Anago.  
  
“You didn’t come here looking for just anyone,” Jun says because it’s the truth. Who else loves anago and as vocal about it as he is?  
  
“Try them,” Sho says instead, the rim of his glass resting on his fat bottom lip. “They’re very good.”  
  
“I don’t doubt that,” Jun says, but he can’t until he knows what he has to do. It’s like a reward system, except Jun hasn’t been this nervous for so long. “This is what I get if I do what? What do you want for tonight, Sho-san?”  
  
“I was opting for your company, but you were unavailable,” Sho says.  
  
“No one else can spend time with me tonight, if that’s what you’re wondering,” Jun tells him. “And it’s not because of your anago sushi, though you have my thanks for them.” He finally lets his guard down and sniffs. “It’s because I’m really sick.”  
  
Something changes in Sho’s eyes, with the way he’s carefully regarding Jun. “Shouldn’t you be resting at home?”  
  
“It’s just a cold,” Jun says, placing the box of takeout sushi in front of him.  
  
“Stubborn,” Sho remarks. “I should have known.”  
  
Jun picks up a piece of anago sushi and lifts it to his mouth. He says his graces and eats the piece, smiling when it turns out to be really good and flavorful.  
  
“Well?” Sho asks expectantly, and Jun sips his whiskey before replying.  
  
“Does this place usually sell anago or did you have to pull a few strings?” he asks.  
  
Sho shakes his head. “I don’t abuse my status that much, I’ll have you know.”  
  
“Really,” Jun says, glancing between them for emphasis.  
  
“I was content to simply pass the sushi to you when Ohno-san said you weren’t available,” Sho explains, and it’s cute seeing him do so, his flustered expression a far cry from his demeanor a few weeks ago. “But he insisted it was fine, so…”  
  
“It’s fine,” Jun affirms, laughing a bit when Sho gives him a look. “I’m just teasing.”  
  
“Are you usually like this?” Sho asks. “With your other clients?”  
  
“Normally, I don’t entertain clients when I’m sick,” Jun admits. “It changes their perception of me and I don’t like it.”  
  
“And how do they perceive you?”  
  
“Depends on what they want to see,” Jun answers. He steps forward and rests his elbows on the counter. “What do you see?”  
  
“A man with a cold in a bartender’s clothing,” Sho says, and Jun laughs.  
  
“Right? Because you’re not supposed to see the host,” Jun says. “The host is in perfect health, not someone who succumbs to hay fever when the season’s here. The host was the one you were with a couple of weeks ago.”  
  
“And this one I’m with now?” Sho asks.  
  
“No one,” Jun says. “He’s a one-time thing.”  
  
“You refer to yourself like that all the time? Or are you simply indulging me?”  
  
“You said I’m a man with a cold wearing bartender’s clothes,” Jun says. “That’s what you see. What did you want to see when you went here?”  
  
Sho looks at the box of sushi between them. “The host.”  
  
“Am I a poor substitute for him?”  
  
“Is he so different that you speak of him as such?” Sho asks. “Isn’t he you?”  
  
“He’s me,” Jun says. “But he’s also not me, not tonight. I’m not here to entertain a client.”  
  
“Then what are you here for?” Sho asks. “Right now, I mean. After I chose to bother you.”  
  
“For the anago,” Jun says, picking up another piece. “You said I get it in return if I keep you company. I am keeping you company.”  
  
Sho watches him eat, and Jun allows him a couple of seconds of staring before he directs a questioning look at Sho’s face.  
  
“You’re very different from the last time,” Sho comments. He doesn’t sound disappointed, because Jun was expecting him to be and was waiting for hints of it. He only sounds curious.  
  
“You were getting the host the last time,” Jun says. “The one you came to see.”  
  
“And how many other personas have you created for yourself?” Sho asks. “Is that truly the case or are you just teasing me again?”  
  
“Isn’t it easier if we subdivide the different sides of me that you meet depending on the situation?” Jun asks back. “Usually, when a client asks for me and I already know what they want, that’s what they’re getting. But since you’re currently Leader’s new VIP, you get a special treatment. I’m letting you see different things and you choose which one you like best, then we go with that.”  
  
Sho nods in understanding, then he meets Jun’s eyes. “You asked me earlier what I want.”  
  
“Have you decided?”  
  
Sho nods again. “I don’t want the host. I don’t want the bartender either.” Jun frowns, utterly confused. “I want all sides of you combined—all the pieces that make the person. Is that possible?”  
  
Jun has to step back and recollect himself when he hears that; it’s as if Sho’s found a fault in his walls and has managed to sneak in, see the inside and determine what makes Jun tick. He feels...dissected, like Sho’s figured out how much he hides when he’s at work, how much he adapts to satisfy anyone who’s looking.  
  
It throws Jun off-balance and he doesn’t know how to regain his footing, to navigate the situation once more.  
  
Sho can’t have what he wants. Jun can’t give it. He _can’t_ —the thought alone is terrifying. He’s here in Akatsuki and that means he has to be the Jun of Akatsuki and not Matsumoto Jun whose mailbox only contains bills and the occasional online orders.  
  
He can’t show who he truly is; how is Jun supposed to reveal to a man he’s only met twice that besides Akatsuki, he has no other sources of human interaction? How does he admit that he’s nothing without the club, that outside the club and without the makeup and their hairspray he’s nothing?  
  
Jun’s shaken; this is one request he can’t fulfill. He used to think that was impossible, considering his popularity and his uncanny ability to adjust to a difficult situation. He’s had to adapt to certain circumstances before, to unpredictable clients who ask for more than what they were promised.  
  
Jun has passed all that—it’s why he’s here now. But he hasn’t experienced being asked for who he truly is, and it’s the one thing he can’t give because he’s scared of how it’ll be perceived. The real Jun—and not Jun of Akatsuki—is not popular and has been rejected multiple times in the past. The real Jun can’t leave the club despite his age because he’s scared of having nowhere else to go to.  
  
The real Jun is a coward and nothing like the confident, suave Jun who dons the highest title in the club for years.  
  
“You don’t want that,” Jun finds himself saying, voice quiet.  
  
“You asked for what I wanted,” Sho says. “I just told you.”  
  
“You don’t want him,” Jun says, shaking his head. “You didn’t come here for him.”  
  
“I know I didn’t come for Nino,” Sho says, and Jun holds his ground despite the urge to take another step back being so strong. “I know I didn’t come for Kento or Yamada or pretty much everyone who’s behind you in this club. You asked for what I wanted—for who I wanted.”  
  
“You asked if it’s possible,” Jun says, keeping his voice collected, even. “It’s not.”  
  
“Why not?”  
  
Because no one in their right mind would pay for the company of someone like him, Jun thinks. Everyone who comes here wants their money’s worth. The Jun he is—the Jun outside these walls—that’s not worth anything. That’s been decided long ago by people who looked at him and saw nothing of substance, hence the rejections.  
  
“He’s unavailable,” is what Jun says in the end, and it comes out weak and exhausted.  
  
Sho studies him for a few moments and Jun refuses to look at him anymore. He’s completely vulnerable at present, and he’s afraid of what else Sho might see.  
  
“Eat,” Sho says instead, gesturing to the box. “I bought those for you. You said you like them.”  
  
Jun does, just to be respectful. His appetite has vanished, but he eats the few remaining pieces so he doesn’t have to talk. The sushi is excellent; it’s only that it’s been so long since he addressed that aspect of his life outside the club.  
  
It’s been too long since he remembered he has one.  
  
“Have I offended you?” Sho asks quietly.  
  
“You gave me something to think about,” Jun says. He doesn’t welcome it, but it’ll haunt him for the next few days, that’s for certain. “But it’s not offensive, no.”  
  
Jun doesn’t quite know how to describe it aside from being fucking terrifying.  
  
“If I leave,” Sho begins, and Jun can hear his sincerity in that offer, “would it be better?”  
  
If he leaves, the sooner Jun has to face how rattled he was earlier.  
  
“No,” he says, taking the initiative to pour the next round of whiskey for the both of them.  
  
He tells the truth.  
  
“It wouldn’t.”  
  
\--  
  
It follows Jun when he gets home, like a shadow that looms over him when it’s so quiet that the only things he hears are his loud, intrusive thoughts.  
  
Building walls to barricade himself in seems useless when the problem is within, and Jun doesn’t know how to address these things. He only knows how to channel the negative feeling somewhere else—to something else.  
  
In the shower, with the heat turned up that it’s almost scalding, he stands immobile with his hands flat against the tiles for support. He imagines all his fears getting washed away as easily as the dirt that has accumulated in his body from a hard day’s work. He imagines them getting washed down the drain and disappearing forever, never returning to haunt him when he thinks he’s safe.  
  
This is who I am, he thinks, wondering what Sho would say if he could see it. Would he retract his statement and claim he wants the host instead? He would—someone like Sho, someone from the same background would want someone stable and confident. It’s why Jun was so concerned about his appearance for the past few days: the illusion has to be always there.  
  
And yet, for some inexplicable reason, it faltered a few hours ago in front of someone else. And that should never have happened; Jun hates himself for allowing it to happen. It’s unthinkable that he accidentally let someone see that far—it only means he’s let his guard down.  
  
And Jun, being himself, finds that difficult to accept. He has to be perfect all the time when he’s in the club.  
  
Combine all aspects and you get me, Jun thinks. He imagines talking to Sho, face-to-face with nothing but disappointment in Sho’s eyes. You get me, and you don’t want what you’re seeing.  
  
I don’t, the Sho in his mind says, because why else would he say otherwise? No one wants the Jun who gets lonely easily that he always gives his best at the club so he’ll be exhausted enough that he won’t think of anything else.  
  
His knees tremble and it’s like a concrete proof of how unstable he is. It’s scary, but Jun can’t do anything about it. He can only wait for the wave to pass and when it does, maybe he can sleep and not dream.  
  
Jun hasn’t drank for a long time before going to bed, but that morning after his shower, he finishes an entire bottle of brandy all by himself. It’s irresponsible and it makes his head swim, but it stops him from thinking and it’s all he needs.  
  
Jun doesn’t know when he falls asleep, but he thankfully doesn’t dream.  
  
\--  
  
To make things worse, Sho returns to the club right before the weekend, ensuring that Jun’s company is his for his entire stay by purchasing a champagne tower minutes after his arrival.  
  
Jun learns how to shield himself by sticking to what he knows from experience: the charming smiles designed to attract, the timely shift of his gaze to leave his client guessing. He embodies the host: someone he’s perfected and has no flaws to show, to be dissected.  
  
“A champagne tower when it’s just the two of us?” Jun asks despite seeing it right before his eyes.  
  
“I’ve never seen one up close,” Sho says. “Only in dramas.”  
  
“We can’t finish all of these,” Jun says, but he takes the glass nearest to him and takes a sip.  
  
“We don’t have to,” Sho says.  
  
Jun rests his weight comfortably on the couch before he looks at Sho again. “And? What is it tonight?”  
  
“Can’t I come just to see you?” Sho asks, and it’s something Jun’s heard multiple times that it no longer affects him.  
  
“Usually, people come to see me when they want something,” Jun says. “Is it about work, perhaps? An accident or a mishap that you could’ve prevented?”  
  
“I filed for candidacy,” Sho says, and Jun hums. “I don’t know if that counts as an accident or a mishap to you, but that’s what happened recently.”  
  
“Has it been approved?” Jun asks.  
  
“Yes,” Sho says, and Jun reaches over to grab another glass.  
  
“Then a toast to your candidacy, Sho-san,” he says, raising his glass.  
  
There’s a pause before Sho mimics him and Jun catches it. He latches on to the observation until the glasses are back on the table and they can talk.  
  
“You’re not satisfied?” he asks, and the flash of surprise on Sho’s face before he blinks it away makes him smile.  
  
“What do you mean?” Sho asks.  
  
“You just told me you filed for candidacy and it’s been accepted,” Jun says. “You’re probably receiving a lot of support already, given who you are. The idea of someone as young as you in office is perhaps threatening to the one currently in position, and that’s advantageous since you’re running for the first time.” Jun picks up the glass again but merely twirls it in hand, letting the liquid slosh inside. “Are you feeling pressured?”  
  
“What makes you think I’m unhappy with the way things are?” Sho asks. “I could’ve simply wished to celebrate here.”  
  
“Or I’m right on the mark and there’s something else about your candidacy that you haven’t opened up to anyone else,” Jun says. “Is that wrong?”  
  
“Overconfident?” Sho asks, features betraying nothing.  
  
Jun smiles. “Part of the job.”  
  
Sho is silent for a brief moment. “If I win, I can’t be here.”  
  
“You being here is already risky enough,” Jun says. “But that didn’t stop you.”  
  
“No,” Sho says. “Private time ought to remain private.”  
  
“Then you have the right attitude to gain the favor of the public,” Jun tells him. “Someone with a backbone.”  
  
Sho quirks an eyebrow, the corner of his mouth lifting in an easygoing smile. “Would you vote for me?”  
  
Jun stares at him. “You’re not running in the area where I live.”  
  
Sho laughs, loud and somewhat infectious. “That’s true,” he says, nodding. Sho travels for more than an hour to reach Akatsuki, perhaps as a measure to protect his privacy.  
  
“So?” Jun asks, refusing to let things go. “What is it? It’s not pressure; I get that now. You’ve had years to deal with pressure to the point you probably do well if put under it. Is it how people will end up watching your every move?”  
  
“They’re already watching my every move,” Sho points out.  
  
“But not to the point they can follow you here,” Jun says.  
  
Sho straightens in his seat. “Heaven forbid.”  
  
“Your presence here will be kept a secret,” Jun promises. Confidentiality is everything for high-profile clients, and Jun knows how to maintain his silence. He’s confident Ohno will, too, if Ohno wants Sho to come back again. “So no need to worry.”  
  
“That’s not what I’m worried about,” Sho says, and something in his tone makes Jun face him.  
  
“Then what is?”  
  
“You saying no,” Sho says.  
  
A crease forms between Jun’s eyebrows. “To what?”  
  
“To dinner,” Sho says, so casually like he’s inquiring about the prices of drinks available at the club.  
  
Jun’s been the recipient of numerous invites in the past and has been to a few just to know what was it like, but he was younger then.  
  
“Dinner,” Jun repeats, tipping the glass to his mouth and finishing what’s left inside of it. “Why?”  
  
“I’d like to get to know you outside the club premises,” Sho says simply, like it’s not supposed to mean something.  
  
But it means something and they both know it.  
  
“Because it’s becoming more risky for you to show up here each time you do?” Jun asks.  
  
Sho inclines his head. “That, but mostly because I was sincere with wanting to know more about you. Must you make this difficult?”  
  
With the way things are proceeding, Jun figures he can agree to the dinner invitation. It’s Sho’s way of telling him he can’t come to Akatsuki anymore, not with the election coming in approximately four months from now.  
  
It can be Sho’s way of saying goodbye despite the short association.  
  
“All right,” Jun says. “Where? When?”  
  
Sho seems startled, eyes widening a bit. “You’re really agreeing,” he says, and Jun directs an arched eyebrow at him. “Sorry. It’s just...I thought you’d still say no.”  
  
“Would you like for me to?” Jun asks.  
  
“No,” Sho says immediately, shaking his head. “No, no. It’s on Sunday night. At the Four Seasons.”  
  
“Fancy,” Jun says. “As expected from you, of course. You’ve made a reservation already.”  
  
“Because I like to plan,” Sho explains. “I like planning for my schedule down to the minute; forgive me. Nine o’clock.”  
  
“All right,” Jun says. “Dress code?”  
  
Sho smiles, like he’s truly touched that Jun has agreed. It’s a good look on him. “Something formal, I’m afraid. I guess I’ll see you at the thirty-first floor.”  
  
“I guess you will,” Jun says, wondering about the strange feeling in his chest. Part of it is relief because he knows that after Sunday, he’ll likely never see Sho again in Akatsuki, so there’ll be no one to rattle him anymore.  
  
And yet there’s the other, undefined half that somehow feels something close to regret. For what, Jun can’t quite understand. For not knowing each other long enough that Sho becomes a regular? For their association ending this abruptly?  
  
Nothing’s concrete, and yet, a part of Jun feels like it’s because he never allowed something to grow.  
  
Or perhaps he did, without him noticing explicitly. Perhaps there _is_ something there after all, something that Jun has failed to name the moment it sprouted.  
  
But it’s too late, he thinks, smiling at Sho once more. After Sunday, he’ll no longer see this man. There’ll be no sudden gifts of anago sushi or expensive champagne towers to ensure that Jun doesn’t go anywhere else.  
  
There’ll be no more of Sho’s smiles that reach his eyes, of his laugh that Jun sometimes sees and hears in his dreams. No more of his words and polite, shy smiles he sometimes gives when Jun ups the flirting a bit.  
  
“Should we order something else?” Sho asks, and Jun laughs.  
  
“I’ve told you we can’t finish this tower by ourselves,” he says. “But be my guest, Sho-san. Tonight is in celebration of your candidacy, after all.”  
  
Sho opts for a beer, a rather cheap choice for someone like him, but it’s not as if he needs to purchase another pricey drink to make Jun stay.  
  
No one’s been able to outbid him since he started coming, hence him quickly earning Ohno’s favor.  
  
“So,” Jun says when the beer has arrived and the champagne tower has been cleared away, “what do you do when you’re not planning to take over the country?”  
  
Sho laughs, his mouth wide open. “I don’t have plans to take over the country!”  
  
“Really,” Jun says.  
  
“Try the entire world,” Sho says, and now it’s Jun turn to laugh.  
  
“Very well, our new tyrant, I suppose,” Jun says. “What else do you do? You don’t stick inside your office for twenty-four hours a day. There’s got to be something for us normal humans to relate with.”  
  
“You call yourself a normal human?” Sho asks, eyeing his posture, his clothes. Jun’s in a shirt with a dark vest thrown over it, and Jun gives him a look.  
  
“I do a bit of gardening, you know,” he says. “Like any normal human.”  
  
“And what do you plant?”  
  
“Lemons,” he replies, and Sho laughs again.  
  
“Normal humans would probably answer my question with ‘watermelons’. You’re fancy, just admit it. And therefore not as normal as you think.”  
  
Jun quirks an eyebrow. “This is the norm for me,” he says confidently, and Sho laughs once more.  
  
“As expected,” Sho says. “All right. Something I do...something I do…”  
  
“You’re not going to reveal that you’re affiliated with the yakuza or something, are you?”  
  
Sho waves his hands in dismissal. “Are you out of your mind? I collect snow globes, that’s what I do. I like to travel, and every time I do, I make sure I have a snow globe to remember the place by.”  
  
“And what else do you collect?” Jun asks, curious. He wasn’t expecting that response.  
  
Sho appears to think about, frowning. “Err...watches?”  
  
Jun grins, eyes now on Sho’s Breguet. “I noticed.”  
  
“As if you don’t spend a good portion of your salary on accessories alone,” Sho points out. “That’s impossible, not with that face.”  
  
“And what does my face look like?” Jun asks.  
  
Sho’s expression shifts, now looking at Jun in a way Jun can’t define.  
  
“Like someone who frequently gets what he wants,” Sho says in the end, and it’s tamer than any response Jun’s mind has formulated beforehand.  
  
“Maybe that is the case,” Jun says. “Can’t stay at the top if it isn’t, right?”  
  
“But is it, really?” Sho asks, like he’s searching for the truth.  
  
“You did say I was spoiled,” Jun reminds him.  
  
“And yet,” Sho says, “you’ve never asked for me anything. You always leave everything up to me.”  
  
Because that’s what makes you come back, Jun doesn’t say. It’s what makes you return here despite the risk that you might be caught by tabloids unknowingly.  
  
“I go with what I think my client prefers,” Jun says. “Was that presumptive? Would you like for me to ask for something?”  
  
“Would you?” Sho asks back.  
  
Jun thinks about it. “No, I wouldn’t. Not even if you ask me to.”  
  
“I thought so. Why not?”  
  
“Because I have a feeling that isn’t what you want from me,” Jun says. The beer is long gone now, the alcohol running in his system, making the words come easier.  
  
Sho nods. “That’s true. I don’t want you to. Not when you’re here.” He looks around the room as if there’s something else he’s seeing.  
  
Jun doesn’t understand. “What do you mean by that?”  
  
“How should I put this?” Sho asks, and it seems he’s talking to himself. “In here, you’re a host, right? Your job is to keep a client company, to keep me company until I have to leave. In here, you’re someone else.” He looks at Jun, and Jun wills himself not to back down from the weight of his stare. “In here, if you ask for something, it’s because the client will benefit from it. In here, it’s not about you. It’s always about the other party.”  
  
“That’s why this is a job,” Jun says. “That’s how it works.”  
  
“Yes,” Sho says, nodding. “I know. You asked why I don’t want you to make a request. You must be misunderstanding right now: if you make one at present, I’ll be delighted. But in the end, I know you’re making it to make me happy, and that’s not what I want.” Sho looks at him. “Have you ever made a request to a client while inside this establishment purely because it’s something that you want?”  
  
Jun’s not that selfish, and he knows Sho knows the answer even before he says it. “No.”  
  
Never is the more accurate answer.  
  
“Each time we meet,” Sho begins, and Jun’s a little scared of what he might say, “you never fail to show me respect. You’re polite even when you tease. I’m grateful for it, but sometimes I can’t help thinking you’re too hard on yourself. That you’re trying so hard to make a lot of people happy, but no one bothers to look if you’re also happy.” His expression softens. “Is that wrong?”  
  
Jun has no idea how he manages to laugh a little. “Because most of my clients are people who are paying me to help them forget,” he explains. “It’s not about truly satisfying whoever comes through that door asking for me—for any of us. It’s about filling a hole in their hearts that they leave this place satisfied and refreshed. That whatever’s pulling them down becomes lifted, even for just a few hours.”  
  
“Even at the expense of yourself?” Sho asks. “You give your all to whoever you meet. You please them, you make them happy. You remember details your clients don’t think you would because they’re important to you, because you make them feel so, treat them so.” Sho tilts his head. “Have you ever entertained the possibility that there might be someone—a client, perhaps—who would want the opposite?”  
  
“What opposite?”  
  
“That instead of me being happy, I want to see you feeling that way as well,” Sho says. “I want you to loosen up, to enjoy this time with me.”  
  
“I am enjoying my time with you,” Jun says. “Why would I stay if I wasn’t?” He’s popular enough that he’s granted a few privileges in Akatsuki. If he feels put off by a client, he’s free to leave and let Ohno and Aiba handle the situation.  
  
“Yes, but there’s always this,” Sho cuts himself off, gesturing vaguely with his hands, “line that you never cross. You smile because that’s what’s expected of you.”  
  
“And that bothers you?” Jun asks, just to be sure.  
  
“No,” Sho says immediately. “No, it doesn’t. It just...frustrates me, I guess. There has to be another word for it, but I don’t know. But that’s how it makes me feel. Like this is one-sided.”  
  
“Because it’s centered on you, that’s why,” Jun tells him. “My job is to ensure someone like you will come back because you enjoyed your time here. That way, I keep my job. You’re probably the only one who sees things like this.”  
  
Sho nods to himself. “Yes, probably. Is it my fault that I’m not that selfish?”  
  
“I don’t think it’s about selfishness,” Jun says. “You’re used to serving people. I don’t know for how long you’ve been doing it, but it’s obvious to me that service is second nature to you. You’re not used to being the one served. Which is rather idealistic, I suppose. I think we’ll all benefit if every politician in office had the same mindset.”  
  
“You think politicians change once they obtain power,” Sho notes. “That’s not wrong.” He faces Jun. “And? Do you think I’ll change if I win?”  
  
“I can’t say,” Jun admits. “I think you’re a willful person, Sho-san. You’ll do anything you set your mind to and do it with utmost enthusiasm.” Jun’s seen it with his persistence in visiting Akatsuki despite the hour-long drive and the possibility of snooping paparazzi. “That’s admirable. But whether or not it’ll last is something I can’t answer.”  
  
“Why not? Because you’re not part of my would-be constituents should I win?”  
  
Jun smiles. “Because I’ll never see you again should you win.”  
  
Sho looks appalled, and Jun continues, “You’re going to be too careful, too cautious once you do. A lot of people will be watching your every move. And I’m not the type who voices out my observations about people I’m not sitting face-to-face with. So I can’t tell.”  
  
“You make the idea of winning difficult,” Sho says after a moment.  
  
“Me?” Jun asks, laughing a little. “Why me?”  
  
“Because each time we meet, I know I want to see you again,” Sho admits. “And to be reminded that I can’t—by you, of all people...it makes the idea of winning not as inviting as I thought it would be.”  
  
Something hammers inside Jun’s ribcage and he wants to shush it to silence; he’s not a young, easily dazzled, and inexperienced host anymore. These words ought to make him feel nothing.  
  
But the sincerity in Sho’s voice makes all the difference, and it’s been too long since someone bothered to look at Jun—the Jun behind the host, the Jun who plants lemons in his veranda and makes sure they’re taken care of, the Jun who talks to his bonsai about his day out of fear of pestering his friends about affairs they hardly have time for since they have their own lives, their families.  
  
“You’ll see me this Sunday,” Jun says to lighten the mood. His pulse has accelerated, and he wonders if Sho can hear it.  
  
Is he that naïve, Jun wonders, that he thinks he doesn’t affect me as much I do him?  
  
“Yes,” Sho says. “That will make me very happy.” He presses the button close to him and puts in an order of whiskey, and when the glasses arrive, he raises his own in a toast.  
  
“I look forward to Sunday,” Sho says, and while that’s an odd thing to drink to, Jun mimics him.  
  
He doesn’t say he’s looking forward to it as well. He doesn’t think he needs to.  
  
\--  
  
It’s Nino whom he bothers when he needs help on what to wear, bringing all the suits that he thought were good but couldn’t decide about over at Nino’s place.  
  
“It’s a Sunday,” Nino complains while Jun lays out one suit after another on his bed. “Why can’t you be normal for once, Jun-kun?”  
  
“I can’t decide if I want the navy blue one or the black one,” Jun says.  
  
“Then why are there five suits on my bed?” Nino asks.  
  
“Well, just in case you don’t like the ones I can’t decide on,” Jun explains.  
  
Nino groans, shaking his head. “It’s just dinner. You’ve had dinner with a client before, as I have. Did I ever bother you when I went out with a client?”  
  
Jun feels a little guilty now. “No.”  
  
Nino gives him a pointed look.  
  
“It’s in the Four Seasons,” he says.  
  
“Yeah and you told me about that the moment he left the club that night,” Nino says. He sighs and runs a hand over his face. “Go with the navy blue one.”  
  
“And the tie?” Jun tries not to smile.  
  
“Go for a skinny one,” Nino says. “You’re so broad-shouldered that a regular tie will make it look more so.” Nino sighs again. “Are we done here?”  
  
“No,” Jun says, and Nino gawks at him. “Glasses or no?”  
  
Nino looks up at the ceiling like he’s begging for an intervention from some deity or higher being. “I think this guy likes you with or without the glasses. But go without. Just bring your usual pair in case your eyes hurt.”  
  
Despite his complaints, he still looks out for Jun, and Jun’s touched.  
  
“Please don’t tell me you’re planning to wear a glove or something,” Nino says.  
  
Jun laughs. “No. Thank you.”  
  
“Okay,” Nino says, waving his small hands at him. “Shoo. Take all these clothes I can never buy for myself someplace else, back to your closet or something. Give me peace, Matsumoto.”  
  
“I will, I will,” Jun promises. “But have you eaten?”  
  
Nino looks like he skipped breakfast and lunch entirely, and it’s already late afternoon.  
  
“You do know I’ll take you up on that offer any time,” Nino says, “right?”  
  
“Yeah, I know,” Jun says, then he proceeds to Nino’s kitchen. “I’ll make something.”  
  
“I’d say thank you but your stuff is still on my bed,” Nino complains.  
  
Jun grins, already perusing the contents of Nino’s fridge. “They won’t be there for much longer. Pasta works for you?”  
  
Nino shrugs. “Sure. Whatever you want. I’m not in the mood for anything.”  
  
Jun’s got the stove turned on when Nino says, “So what’s your itinerary for tonight?”  
  
“Itinerary?” He leaves the water to boil before he faces Nino.  
  
“It’s dinner, right? What happens after dinner?” Nino asks, and the implications don’t escape from Jun. “Solving mysteries together?”  
  
Jun rolls his eyes. “I’m not fucking him after one dinner,” he says. He’s too professional for that.  
  
“But maybe that’s what you have to do,” Nino says, and Jun hates him now. “You’ve got this guy wrapped around your finger, Matsumoto. But what he doesn’t know is that you’re also thinking about him whenever you’re not in the club.”  
  
“I‘m not,” Jun denies vehemently, except Nino just ignores him.  
  
“So scratch the itch,” Nino continues. “Sleep with him. And should you never see him again, at least you have that memory to go by.”  
  
Jun leans against the kitchen counter and crosses his arms over his chest. “Did you do the same for your past clients? The ones you spent a few hours after work with?”  
  
“Maybe,” Nino answers, shoulders shrugging. “I’m trying to help you, all right? We both know what are the chances of him returning to club. And because I know you, I know you’ve been thinking about that for a while now. Here’s something to think about instead: does my suggestion have merit or am I just being an asshole to you now?”  
  
Jun opens his mouth but Nino lifts a finger in warning. “You’re the one who brought your entire closet here, deferring to my expertise, and is currently hijacking my kitchen. Don’t you dare say I’m the asshole.”  
  
Jun lets out a breath, shoulders slumping. “I can’t tell if you’re just fucking with me or you’re genuinely concerned.”  
  
“Listen,” Nino says, “if I have the hots for someone and they like me back, I take it slow when I have the time. Do you have the time?”  
  
“I’m not you,” Jun points out.  
  
“No,” Nino says, nodding, “you’re not. But the answer is also no: you don’t have the time. If you’ve been thinking about him for a while now, turn off your brain for a second and just do what feels right.”  
  
“And how does sleeping with him the right thing to do? He’s my client.”  
  
“He’s only your client if he’s in Akatsuki and is paying for your company,” Nino says. “Ever think about it like that?”  
  
Jun draws back, looking at Nino in combined exasperation and disbelief. But Nino’s words have weight—they always do.  
  
“I’m not saying you sleep with him,” Nino says. “Do whatever you want. Do what you feel like doing. But do it before he goes so you won’t be left with questions you can never answer.”  
  
“So I won’t have anything to regret, huh,” Jun says, and he sees Nino nodding.  
  
“And when that’s done, you move on,” Nino says. “Should you never see him again, you move on. At least you can stop yourself from always thinking about the possibilities.”  
  
Jun sighs. “Fine,” he says. “I’m not saying I’ll do it. But I’ll think about it.”  
  
“You do that,” Nino says, perching himself on the kitchen island. “It’s what you always do, anyway.”  
  
\--  
  
The thirty-first floor of the Four Seasons gives a spectacular view of Tokyo metropolis at night. This high up, Jun can barely hear the cars outside. When he looks out the window, it’s like he’s looking at a postcard of the city, vibrant and alive underneath his fingertips.  
  
He remains there until the door to the function hall opens, and Jun doesn’t need to turn his head to know who it is. His reflection against the windows give him away.  
  
He seems a little out of breath. Jun doesn’t spare him a glance.  
  
“I thought you left,” Sho says.  
  
“I should have,” Jun says. He doesn’t know why he chose to linger when he has zero intentions of entering that room again. Not after what he just experienced.  
  
“I’m sorry,” Sho says, and Jun keeps his eyes on the glittering lights from far away. “I should’ve elaborated. I didn’t think—”  
  
“Didn’t think what?” Jun asks. “Didn’t think I was expecting it to just be the two of us, perhaps your bodyguard standing nearby for the illusion of privacy? Didn’t think about what I was to feel once I found out that this is a celebration hosted by your supporters?” Jun is already fuming inside, and he wonders if it shows.  
  
When he came here, he had expectations. When a client asks him out to dinner, it’s a high-class dinner in a private room of a well-known establishment. Usually it’s a hotel, unless the client has a personal connection in a particular restaurant that they can make reservations.  
  
That was what Jun had in mind. Instead, when he reached the designated floor, he was welcomed by people he didn’t know, dressed in the same manner as he is. He was ushered inside by Fuma who looked thrilled to see him, as if he’d been expecting Jun. He was introduced as Sakurai Sho’s associate while Sho stood beside him, not looking the slightest bit bothered when Jun had thrown him a questioning look.  
  
Jun weathered the stares, the socializing, the questions on how they came to know one another. “Matsumoto-san was kind enough to drop by despite his hectic work schedule,” was what Sho told his adoring supporters after his introduction.  
  
“And what do you do, Matsumoto-san?” one of them asked, and before Sho could lie again, Jun beat him to it.  
  
“Travel,” he said, keeping his voice saccharine and innocent. “Then I make sure to collect snow globes from each place I visit.”  
  
Whether Sho understood how he felt or not didn’t matter; he was angry.  
  
Still is.  
  
“You didn’t think I’d what? Walk out?” Jun asks. “I guess that disrupts your plans. Did you bring me here so I could help you charm your supporters? Make them like you? Ascertain their favor until the elections?” Jun keeps his eyes on the glass, barely seeing what’s outside. He’s got a fist clenched at his side to help reel in his temper, but it’s not doing much.  
  
“That’s not why I invited you,” Sho says.  
  
“Then why?” Jun asks, letting his irritation seep through. He should be at the club. He should be entertaining his clients, making them happy, complimenting them. If Sho wants that kind of service, he shouldn’t have bothered to bring Jun here.  
  
He should have simply said so, when they were in Akatsuki.  
  
“I won’t be your campaign material,” Jun says, seething. “But if that’s what you wanted, the least you could do was ask. Instead of making me go here, thinking it was—” he trails off and laughs, unamused. “And I thought you weren’t selfish.”  
  
He hears Sho take a step and he deftly moves to the side. “Is that wise?” he asks. “I suppose you’re not thinking altogether for tonight, Sakurai-san.” He gestures to the function hall. “Your supporters are all here. What would they say?”  
  
“They already know I stepped outside,” Sho says.  
  
Jun shakes his head. He can’t allow this. “I don’t know what might have happened for your brain to stop working, but I’ll do you a favor.” He inclines his head. “Thank you for tonight. I’m leaving; unlike you, I actually have somewhere else to be.”  
  
“Won’t you listen first?” Sho asks.  
  
“And go back inside? No,” Jun says flatly. “I’ve already lied for you. I’ve smiled for you, made people laugh for you. I’ve shared stories that aren’t true to make people like you more and they have. I think I’ve done enough.”  
  
“I wasn’t asking you to do that!” Sho says, sounding impatient. It’s the first time Jun’s heard him raise his voice. “I didn’t bring you here as…”  
  
“Decoration? Something pretty to look at?” Jun supplies when it’s clear Sho wouldn’t continue. “But that’s what happened. That’s what I ended up being. Someone attractive to help distract your audience.” He snorts, not caring if it’s unprofessional. He’s off work, anyway. “Is this you trying to get to know me better? Then you know me now.”  
  
“I’m sorry,” Sho repeats, and he looks like he doesn’t know what else to do. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know it’ll offend you. I was wrong for not thinking that. I was wrong for not explaining the situation properly, I was wrong for being selfish. But you have to believe me that what happened in there wasn’t my intention. That it wasn’t why invited you.”  
  
Jun opens his mouth for a counterargument, but the door opens and it’s Fuma.  
  
“Aniki,” Fuma says, bowing at Jun briefly. “They’re looking for you. I can’t hold them off any longer.”  
  
“Thank you, Fuma-kun,” Jun says pointedly, extending a hand towards the now-opened door of the function hall. “You’re needed, Sakurai-san.”  
  
Sho nods at Fuma. “I’ll go. Head back inside.” He waits until Fuma leaves and shuts the door once more. “Don’t go. Please. Not until you hear what I have to say. Not until I explain things to you.”  
  
“Then what? I’m supposed to stick around and wait for a proper explanation?” Jun asks, laughing. “Just how self-entitled are you?” He gestures to the door. “Get in there and leave me alone.”  
  
Sho looks defeated, the angle of his shoulders more depressed. He looks at Jun hopelessly before he turns away, and Jun wishes that’s the last of Sho that he’ll see.  
  
Alone, Jun lets out measured breaths. He was used. What annoys him isn’t the fact that it happened, but rather how promising the night has started. He had all kinds of expectations, only to be crushed in the worst way possible.  
  
And while Sho has apologized, it doesn’t make the anger dissipate. It only fuels it more, because how could Sho have been so stupid? So reckless? If he wants to self-destruct, why bother involving Jun? Why is Jun involved?  
  
The door opens once more and Jun is prepared to glare at the person stepping out, except it isn’t Sho.  
  
It’s Ueda. Sho’s loyal chauffeur.  
  
“Here to drive me back?” Jun asks. “On his orders?”  
  
Ueda shakes his head. “Sho-san has asked me to come looking for you.”  
  
“And I haven’t left yet, so would there be anything else?” Jun asks. “Should I hurry along, in case people find out?”  
  
He's being rude, but Ueda ignores him. Perhaps he’s developed a tolerance for attitude like that.  
  
“Sho-san asked me to accompany you to the adjacent building,” Ueda says calmly. “To the hotel.”  
  
Jun quirks an eyebrow. “Your boss is full of it tonight. And if I refuse?”  
  
“He hopes you won’t,” Ueda says. “He meant no disrespect.”  
  
That coming from someone whose salary is paid by Sho is unbelievable, but Ueda is one of the two people who truly knows who Jun is, Fuma being the other.  
  
“You’ll do anything he says, won’t you?” Jun asks.  
  
Ueda regards him. “I’ve known Sho-san for years. I know what I’m saying now might be of little significance to you. But whatever you think happened tonight, he didn’t mean it. He’s not a cruel person.”  
  
“At least not intentionally,” Jun says. Then he exhales. “I suppose I’m to wait for him there?”  
  
“That would be ideal,” Ueda says. “I won’t force you, Matsumoto-san.”  
  
“Of course you won’t,” Jun says, heading for the elevators. “That’s already done.”  
  
He waits until Ueda steps beside him before he presses the button.  
  
“I’ll hear what he has to say,” Jun says. “But he’s only got an hour.” He checks his watch—it’s almost midnight. “You tell your boss if he doesn’t show up in an hour, I’m going.”  
  
“He has a speech to deliver,” Ueda informs him.  
  
“And I have a job,” Jun says. “As you know. Tell him that.”  
  
Ueda fishes for his phone inside his suit jacket, typing a quick message. The elevator opens and they board together, and Jun leans his weight against the wall.  
  
It takes a few minutes before one of them speaks again.  
  
“He says he understands,” Ueda tells him, and Jun only inclines his head in acknowledgement.  
  
\--  
  
The hotel room Ueda leads him to is an executive suite, and entering it tells Jun that this is where Sho’s been staying for a few days now, from the looks of the scattered papers on the nearest desk.  
  
“You don’t have to stay to watch over me,” Jun says. “I won’t run.” He lifts his watch for emphasis. “He’s still got time.”  
  
Ueda nods, bowing before shutting the door, and Jun helps himself to the plush-looking sofa as he waits. He ditches his coat and drapes it over the adjacent chair, drumming his fingers impatiently on the arm rests.  
  
He should’ve left. He knows that. After tonight, he knows that.  
  
But he wants to hear what Sho has to say; he never liked not knowing the other side of the story. He never liked being kept in the dark.  
  
So he plans to listen to Sho explain, for himself to have the last word, and go back to Akatsuki, where it’s a familiar environment and he knows what he’s doing.  
  
It takes thirty minutes for the door to open once more, and Sho enters the suite a little flushed, like he rushed to get here.  
  
“Ten minutes left,” Jun notes, and Sho lets out a breath. Jun watches him take off his jacket, depositing it over an armchair as he approaches the bar.  
  
“Can I get you anything to drink?” Sho asks.  
  
“Don’t bother. I’m not saying for long,” Jun says, and he sees how Sho takes that in.  
  
“I see,” Sho says, nodding.  
  
“Your chauffeur said you have something to say,” Jun says. “I don’t like prolonging things, Sakurai-san. If you can just give your excuses so I can leave sooner, that would be appreciated.”  
  
“Do you want to leave that much?” Sho asks.  
  
“Yes,” Jun says, not caring anymore if he’s being cruel. It’s the truth. “I’m only here because I’d hate to waste Ueda-san’s efforts. But let’s not talk about that. Let’s just listen to you.”  
  
“I didn’t invite you for the reasons you may have thought of,” Sho begins, and Jun rests his back against the sofa. If he was going to listen to a pitiful excuse, he might as well make himself comfortable. “I’m sorry for tonight. I know I made it look like it was going to be just the two of us, but even that wasn’t intentional.”  
  
“Then what was it? Something you simply forgot?” Jun asks. “You forgot the nature of your own party? How convenient.”  
  
“I thought you understood,” Sho says, and Jun frowns at him. “I gave you the location. I thought you knew what it meant.”  
  
“Oh so I was supposed to pick up the hint that it’s a huge room so there’s got to be an event and not some private dinner of sorts?” Jun asks. “Well, my apologies for my stupidity, Sakurai-san. You see, I’ve never been to this place.”  
  
“And that was my mistake,” Sho says. “My first mistake. Second was failing to give you an explanation when you arrived. We just had to go with the flow because…” Sho looks at him, shaking his head. “You attracted attention the moment you stepped foot inside the hall.”  
  
“So that’s also my fault?” Jun asks.  
  
“No,” Sho says. “No, I’m just saying that things didn’t really work in my favor for tonight. And I’m sorry. I’m sorry you had to play along. I’m sorry I had to lie. I’m sorry this night isn’t like what you thought it will be. I’m sorry I offended you. That’s the second time I’ve said that, but I’ll keep saying it until you believe me. You weren’t there because I wanted to impress everyone. But that’s how it ended up looking like and I’m sorry.”  
  
“Then why invite me?” Jun asks. “If not to help you secure the votes of all those people, why bother to invite me?”  
  
Sho’s eyes are sad when they flit to meet Jun’s. He looks tired, like he’s aged a few more years sometime in the night, almost weary. “I just wanted to know what it would be like.”  
  
“What?” Jun asks, not comprehending.  
  
“To be with you,” Sho says. “In a place where I don’t have to hide. I just wanted to know how it’d feel like to be seen with you outside that private room in the club. To have you by my side where other people can see.”  
  
A spike of rage ignites in Jun when he hears those words, and he can’t help himself from saying, “So what was I? A tool for your delayed journey to self-discovery?” He seethes, eyes narrowed. “If you’re closeted, use somebody else. If no one knows, that’s on you. Why drag me into this? Why do something like this to me?”  
  
Sho panics; it’s evident on his face. “What? No. No, it’s not like that!”  
  
“Not like what? You used me!” Jun exclaims. “No matter what you say, that’s what happened!”  
  
“That wasn’t my intention! And it’s not like that!” Sho says, voice rising in pitch.  
  
Jun knows they’re both shouting and probably disturbing the occupants in the adjacent room, but he doesn’t care. He’s so angry and frustrated. “Then what’s the excuse this time? You didn’t know? As if I’d believe that!”  
  
“I wasn’t using you!” Sho says, and he sounds frustrated too. “I’d never do that. I told you: I just wanted to know how it feels like to be with you. I wasn’t lying when I said I want to get to know you better. I picked a wrong timing for it, that’s true, but I wasn’t lying. I wanted you there because I want to know how it feels if I don’t have to hide. Because whenever I’m with you, I never had to.” Sho breathes out, a rushing exhale that makes his shoulders slump in defeat. “Whenever I’m with you, I don’t have to pretend. I’m tired of pretending. I’m sorry if I ended up taking advantage of you tonight. That wasn’t what I wanted. I didn’t mean to.” Sho looks at him, expression serious and apologetic. “I would never want to hurt you. Not you.”  
  
Jun leans back against the couch and shuts his eyes, feeling torn. He’s angry over what happened, but he can’t blame Sho if everything was unintentional. And with what Sho’s telling him…  
  
He hates it because he understands. At the club, he has to pretend. He pretends all the time in various ways. And he’s never found an outlet; he hasn’t been as lucky as Sho in that aspect. All this time he’s been keeping everything to himself—how taxing it is to pretend for a client that he prefers women when he doesn’t, how lonely it is to have no one to talk to when he comes home after work, after all the masks and layers have been removed from his person and he’s back to being just Jun.  
  
“I’m sorry,” Sho says, running a hand through his hair. “I’m so sorry. I really fucked up tonight and my mistake was involving you. I’m sorry for being selfish. I never stopped to think how you’d feel, and now all I can do is say the same words over and over again even though you’re within your rights to not believe me.”  
  
“But we did pretend,” Jun says when the silence has lingered. He says it so quietly that he almost thinks Sho didn’t hear him.  
  
But he did; he’s looking at Jun now.  
  
“We pretended we’re friends,” Jun continues. “That that’s all who we are to one another.” He looks at Sho. “In the end, it wasn’t the kind of liberation you were probably seeking.”  
  
“But they’ve seen me with you and that’s enough,” Sho says, smiling sadly. “I won’t ask for more. I won’t wish for more; I can’t. I just wanted to know what it was like one last time before they watch my every move and I have to be who they want me to be.”  
  
After tonight, Sho will focus on the election. It’s why Jun knows he’ll never see him in Akatsuki again. He’ll be under the scrutiny of those who support him, and he can’t let anybody know that he’s not a marriage prospect because that will affect his favorability. With his looks, they can sell the image of him as a bachelor and gain the favor of younger women.  
  
Jun’s heart breaks for him, at the knowledge that Sho will keep on pretending after this. He’ll continue to hide and be unhappy, just to make others happy.  
  
And isn’t he the same? He hides who he truly is because he thinks no one will want him when they’ve got the perfect, flawless version of him within reach. He conceals the true Jun to make way for the Jun that his clients want, the Jun who can make other people happy with just a smile and a bunch of sweet, meaningless words.  
  
Sho faces him, taking a few steps closer. “I wish things ended differently for us. I wish I could’ve treated you better, especially after tonight. I wish I truly got to know you, that I had the chance. That we met earlier before I had to make some big decisions. Maybe we wouldn’t be here if that was the case.”  
  
“What happened to not wishing for more?” Jun asks.  
  
Sho directs a tiny smile at him. “This is the last time I’ll be saying them. Hopefully the last time I think about them, too.” He reaches out, and he’s close enough that he’s able to run his knuckles against the collar of Jun’s shirt. A phantom touch that Jun might as well have imagined. “I’m glad I got to see you, at least for one last time. Even if things turned out for the worst.”  
  
Jun stands, the action surprising Sho who takes a step back. It’s Jun who takes a step forward, right into Sho’s space, and this close, he discovers he’s slightly taller.  
  
“You invited me,” Jun says, his voice lower since they’re so close.  
  
“Yes.”  
  
“To pretend that we’re friends when we’re not.” Jun shakes his head. “We’re not.”  
  
Sho looks at him, and his lips tremble. “I know.”  
  
“Do you know what we are?” he asks as he steps closer; he can’t help it. He has to know.  
  
Jun has to know before he makes the plunge.  
  
“No,” Sho whispers, his eyes drifting shut. “But I know what I want us to be.” When he opens his eyes, he’s staring at Jun’s own. “I think of you all the time.”  
  
One of Jun’s hands reaches up, cupping Sho’s nape, and he closes his eyes as he leans in, experiencing the softness of Sho’s mouth for the first time, the shudder of surprise Sho lets out before he responds, hands finding their place at Jun’s lower back and clinging.  
  
Kissing Sho makes him feel like there’s nothing else to focus on, no outside world to worry about. In here, they don’t have to pretend. He’s not the top-selling host of Akatsuki and Sho’s not an aspiring politician, expected to follow his father’s footsteps.  
  
They’re just them, and the thought makes Jun heady, sending a tingle down his spine. There’s no hiding anymore, not when Sho has voiced out what Jun’s been wanting to say all along.  
  
When they break apart, Sho’s lips are glistening and swollen, as shapely and as inviting as they’ve been when Jun first saw him. Jun runs his fingers over them, mesmerized, and Sho meets his eyes once more.  
  
“I’ve always thought of what it’d be like to kiss you,” he admits quietly, as if someone might hear them.  
  
“Stop thinking,” Jun says, “and do it again.”  
  
Sho does, surging forward and causing Jun’s fingers to slip away, regaining their place at the back of Sho’s neck. With explicit permission given, Sho becomes bolder. He kisses Jun hard, like how he must’ve wanted to for so long, making Jun moan against him. When Jun presses his tongue against the seam between Sho’s lips, Sho parts eagerly for him, welcoming him, and Jun presses closer.  
  
It’s difficult to think of something else when they’re like this, when Sho’s so close and Jun’s finding out for the first time how he tastes like. It makes him greedy, both hands holding Sho’s face now, thumbs stroking his cheekbones. Sho wraps an arm around his waist, the other tracing his spine and sending spikes of pleasure in their wake.  
  
It’s Sho who pulls back this time, pressing his forehead against Jun’s as he attempts to catch his breath.  
  
“I think of you, too,” Jun says between them, kissing Sho briefly, sweetly. “More than I should. More than you’ll probably know.”  
  
“Jun,” Sho whispers, and it’s the first time Jun hears his name fall from his lips. He’s been so careful at the club that he never utters it, much to Jun’s frustration.  
  
But this is real. This is Sho, saying his name like he’s all that matters.  
  
Jun takes his hand and leads the way, and Sho follows. It’s Sho who kicks the bedroom door shut once they’re inside, and it’s him who reaches for Jun first and initiates a kiss again, hard and needy that leaves Jun wanting more.  
  
They don’t rush, not when they’re here and they’re alone and they have the time. They kiss until they both get impatient, until one of their hands starts to drift to undo buttons and ties. Jun eventually has a shirt unbuttoned, his neck exposed, and Sho’s lips begin their trek southward, planting short kisses that seek to drive Jun mad.  
  
He feels Sho’s teeth graze his pulse when he hears Sho speak.  
  
“I’m sorry,” Sho says, out of breath. “I can’t, right? I can’t leave marks.”  
  
Jun searches for his eyes and thumbs at his mouth when they look at one another. “You can.”  
  
“But people will see—” Sho starts, but Jun shushes him.  
  
“I want them to,” he says, and he ends up gasping when he feels Sho’s mouth press against his neck and suck, forceful enough that he’s certain it’ll bruise.  
  
Sho’s hot mouth descends slowly, making Jun shiver, fingers finding purchase on the fabric of Sho’s shirt. He uses his hold to ground himself since this is finally happening.  
  
“You’ve never asked me for anything before. But right now I want to know. What do you want?” Sho whispers, breath ticklish against Jun’s sensitive skin. “Tell me.”  
  
“Keep going,” Jun says, and Sho’s grip on him tightens as he scatters kisses on Jun’s neck. Jun relishes the feeling, extending his neck further in cooperation.  
  
Sho guides him to the bed, until the back of Jun’s knees hit the mattress and he has to sit. A hand slips under his nape, guiding him as Sho sweeps down to reclaim his mouth in a hard kiss.  
  
“What else?” Sho husks against his lips, teeth grazing Jun’s swollen ones. “What else? Tell me.”  
  
Jun’s mind is beginning to haze, making it difficult to come up with something coherent. His teeth catch on to his bottom lip as he fights the blush that climbs up to his cheeks.  
  
“Bite me with those teeth,” he whispers, eyes tightly shut. He’s never said it to anyone before, but it’s a long-time fantasy of his—to see his body marked and bruised in various places, something for him to admire in the mirror come morning.  
  
“Please,” he begs, and he gasps in surprise when he feels Sho bite down onto the column of his throat, the sudden pain bringing him indescribable pleasure, his spine curving. The hardness of Sho’s teeth sinking into his flesh leaves him wanting more, and Jun begs for it in gasps, in almost inaudible whispers laced with Sho’s name.  
  
Sho uses his mouth like he can’t get enough, like his sole focus at present is catering to Jun’s every need. Jun guides him by telling him what he wants and Sho obliges—in teasing flicks of his tongue, in tiny nips and forceful sucks that will leave Jun’s skin bruised. Jun fists at the sheets on his sides, eyes screwed shut as Sho’s fingers begin unbuttoning his shirt, exposing more skin for Sho to taste, to claim for himself.  
  
They kiss again when Sho has his fingers grazing Jun’s nipple, making Jun jolt, his moan silenced by Sho’s mouth. Sho bites on his bottom lip as his hand travels further, deftly unbuttoning Jun’s trousers. When he finds Jun and grips, Jun breaks off the kiss and wraps a hand around Sho’s wrist.  
  
“You don’t want to,” Sho says after blinking at Jun in question. “All right.”  
  
“No,” Jun says quickly, shaking his head. “That’s not what I meant. I just...I want to feel you, and you’re still wearing too many clothes.” He wants them skin to skin and he makes his point by trying to unbutton Sho’s shirt quickly.  
  
Sho moves away from him, and Jun watches him with his mouth slightly parted as Sho begins to undress, ditching his shirt to the floor followed by his slacks. Jun’s brain rewires itself and he starts doing the same, kicking off his shoes and not caring where they end up in.  
  
“What else do you want?” Sho asks, and he’s finally naked that Jun doesn’t quite know where to look. Though he has no six pack to show, Sho still possesses a toned body, indicative of hours spent at the gym. Jun unconsciously licks his lips when his eyes begin following the trail of dark hair from Sho’s navel, and when his gaze flicks upward, he finds Sho watching him too.  
  
When Sho speaks, his voice is a deep baritone that makes Jun weak in the knees. “How do you want this to go?”  
  
The sincerity in Sho’s tone gives Jun the courage he needs, and he faces his right before turning to look at Sho, and back to his right again.  
  
Where the windows are, covered by curtains.  
  
Sho’s eyes widen for a moment, then he seems to understand. “Are you sure?”  
  
Jun nods.  
  
Sho moistens his lips and swallows once, twice. “Someone might see. There might be people in the other buildings and what if—”  
  
Jun rises from the bed and grabs Sho’s face, pressing their bodies closer. His cock brushes against Sho’s and the friction is too good but not enough.  
  
He wants more.  
  
“You asked how I want it. I want you to fuck me there, where anyone can see if they look closely enough. I want them to see.” He kisses Sho fully on the mouth to placate him. “They won’t see you anyway. But they will see me, and I want them to.”  
  
Enough hiding for me, Jun thinks. He’s hidden enough.  
  
There’s a pause before Sho responds. He nods slowly and stares at Jun’s eyes, perhaps to see how much Jun wants this. Jun doesn’t back down, meeting his stare evenly, and Sho nods again.  
  
“I want you to brace yourself against the windows and wait for me,” Sho says in that deep, commanding voice that has Jun nearly melting in his arms. If Sho talks to him like that all the time, he feels inclined to do what he says and not disobey. “Go.”  
  
Jun does, approaching the window and drawing the curtains apart. Looking out gives him a view of the hotel parking lot, Tokyo nightlife serving as the backdrop, and given the lateness of the hour, there are hardly any people to worry about.  
  
But there might be someone, and the mere thought of that thrills Jun.  
  
He braces himself against the glass by planting his forearm in front of him, and leaning closer allows him to rest his forehead against them. He keeps his legs apart and waits, though he can’t help reaching down and stroking himself in anticipation as he waits for Sho to come back.  
  
When Sho does, Jun feels it as his hands frame Jun’s hips, their bodies aligning. Looking up has Jun seeing Sho’s reflection against the glass, half of his face obscured by shadows. He holds his breath as Sho trails kisses down his back, tongue licking at the knobs formed by his spine.  
  
The first finger is a shock of cold against Jun but he breathes out and lets Sho touch him. Sho’s as gentle as he was earlier, treating Jun with care and never rushing, instead making sure that Jun is as relaxed as he has to be.  
  
Jun’s been with a couple of other partners before who only wish to get it over with as soon as possible, and of course Sho doesn’t do things like that. He makes Jun feel good, giving Jun enough time to adjust, making Jun’s toes curl. He’s so slow with it that Jun has to beg him for more, and when he obliges, Jun’s pushing back against his slick fingers, trying to tell him he’s ready.  
  
Sho withdraws, one hand still clutching at Jun’s hip, and Jun waits impatiently. He hears a packet tearing followed by a shuffle of movement—the unmistakable sounds of Sho slicking himself before he lines up—, and Jun bites his bottom lip to keep his noises down.  
  
Another kiss to his shoulder and Sho pushes in slowly, the stretch a bit too much since Sho’s bigger than his fingers. Jun clenches around him on reflex and Sho doesn’t move, instead waits even though it might be taking all of his self-control to do so.  
  
When Jun relaxes, Sho presses forward. It’s a slow process since Sho’s so careful, and by the time Jun has all of him, Jun’s a few seconds away from begging him to move.  
  
He feels full, but he wants more. He pushes back just to tell Sho he’s ready, and Sho takes the hint. His hands take their place on Jun’s hips once more, thumbs stroking the crests of Jun’s hipbones. When they move, they do it together—Jun meeting Sho halfway, and they soon establish a rhythm that has them both groaning, Jun with his forehead pressed against his arm as he starts vocalizing his pleasure.  
  
It’s good; it’s been so long since he felt this good. Sho fucks into him in a steady, forceful pace that has him gasping, and he opens his eyes to lift his head, just to see how Sho looks like as he gives Jun what he wants.  
  
Sho’s reflection is flushed, though Jun can only see half of it because of the shadows. When their eyes meet on the glass’ surface, Jun feels Sho’s hand tug on his shoulder and he turns, just in time to meet Sho’s mouth.  
  
They kiss while rocking against one another, though it isn’t much of a kiss in Jun’s opinion—just their mouths pressed together and groaning while they fuck, while Sho pushes into him with enough force that nearly makes him shout. Jun reaches back, one hand getting tangled in Sho’s hair to kiss him properly, but it ends in another moan when Sho bites his lip and ups his pace at the same time.  
  
He has his other hand plastered on the glass for support, and he feels one of Sho’s hands covering his palm with his own, their fingers entwining.  
  
Sho breaks off the kiss, pressing his sweaty forehead against Jun’s back as they continue to move. “Jun,” he says, his breath hot and turning Jun’s skin to gooseflesh. “Jun.”  
  
Jun reaches down to take himself in hand, stroking in time with Sho’s thrusts, his grip on Sho’s hand tightening when it becomes too much. He shuts his eyes and allows the sensations to overwhelm him completely: Sho in him, the smell of his sweat, the feeling of his hot breath as he repeatedly says Jun’s name.  
  
His toes curl when he comes, all over the glass in quick, hot bursts. For a moment, it’s as if he veers off somewhere else, a steady buzz ringing in his ears. He jerks himself off until the orgasm subsides, until his euphoria starts to clear and he can focus on how Sho’s still fucking him, though he’s lost his rhythm now: hips slamming against Jun’s in loud smacks that echo throughout the room.  
  
Jun lifts his head and stares at his own reflection, at his mouth swollen and parted, his blissful expression as he’s being fucked. He looks so out of it, hair disheveled and a mess, but his appreciation for how he looks like gets cut off by a startled gasp as Sho reaches up to pull his hair back, the pain making him moan.  
  
Sho shudders in the next second, teeth catching on to the meat of Jun’s shoulder in an attempt to muffle his noises. He comes and he holds Jun’s body close while he does. The combined pain in his hair and on his shoulder has Jun groaning, and he feels unstable once Sho loosens his grip on him.  
  
The way Sho is holding him changes; he pulls his hand free from Jun’s hair and from Jun’s hold, arms reappearing to circle Jun’s waist as he hides his face by mashing it against Jun’s back. Jun has to brace himself on the glass using both palms now to support their weights, but he doesn’t complain. Having Sho this close is a good compensation as they both try to catch their breaths.  
  
“Should we pull the curtains back?” Sho asks after a while.  
  
Jun laughs, breathless and giddy. He’s feeling great. “Not before cleaning the windows.”  
  
Sho lifts his head and hooks it against his shoulder to take a peek, and his chuckles are warm against Jun’s ear. “Right. Wouldn’t want to scandalize the hotel staff.”  
  
Jun looks at their reflection, at Sho’s carefree, soft smile.  
  
He faces the side just to have his cheek rub against Sho’s. “No more pretending when you’re with me. All right?”  
  
Sho nods, burying his face against his shoulder. “All right.”  
  
It’s muffled against Jun’s skin but it’s all he needs.  
  
They remain like that for a while, sticky and sweaty and spent, but Jun doesn’t want to go anywhere. In this room, they don’t have to be whoever other people want them to be. In here, it’s just him and Sho, and they don’t have to hide. Here, it doesn’t have to be a secret.  
  
Right here, right now, Jun feels at peace.  
  
“Do you have to go?” Sho asks quietly.  
  
The club and his responsibilities are the least of his concerns.  
  
He shakes his head. “I can take a night off.”  
  
He can feel Sho’s smile against his shoulder, another kiss soon pressed to the line of bone.  
  
“Please do.”  
  
\--  
  
He wakes in the middle of the night to featherlight, ticklish touches across his collarbone, and he has to blink in the darkness repeatedly to reacquire to his bearings.  
  
“What?” Jun asks groggily, still half-asleep. “What’s wrong?”  
  
“Nothing,” comes Sho’s sleep-laced husk. “Just lie back.”  
  
Jun does, finding he can’t move much, not when Sho’s half-draped on top of him. There’s Sho insistent mouth scattering kisses on his neck, traveling upward to suck on his earlobe. It tickles and Jun squirms, laughing softly as he hides his face against the sheets.  
  
It’s too early. But he’s not against what Sho might have in mind, happy to just stay in bed and allow Sho to tend to him. He sighs and soon he feels Sho nipping at different parts of his body that’s within reach.  
  
“I’ve thought of this since we met,” Sho whispers, punctuating his confession with a bite at the junction where Jun’s neck meets his shoulder. It makes Jun hiss. “You lying on my bed while I give you everything you wanted. I’ve thought of that for so long.”  
  
Sho shifts, and when Jun opens his eyes and faces him, he finds Sho looming over him with his forearms braced on either sides of Jun’s face. Sho brushes away the errant strands of Jun’s hair, looking into his eyes.  
  
“Like you said earlier,” Sho begins, his eyes earnest, “no need to pretend when you’re with me.” He smiles—shyly, hesitantly. If the lights were on, he’d be blushing.  
  
Jun kisses him in response, arms linking at the back of Sho’s neck and drawing him closer, until Jun can only feel their body heat and breaths mingling, until Sho holds him close like he has no intention of letting go.  
  
They kiss until Jun gets tired of it, until Jun’s lips ache that he has to be the one who pulls away.  
  
“Tell me I’ll see you again,” he finds himself saying, his heart beating wildly. He never uttered those words seriously before; the other times he’s said it were to ensure that his client would return to him and help him maintain his popularity.  
  
But Sho’s not a client. Not anymore.  
  
“Tell me this isn’t the last time,” Jun whispers, and it’s Sho who initiates a kiss this time, short but hard, like he wants to prove something.  
  
“You’re mad to think I’ll stay away after tonight,” Sho says, laughing a bit. “I don’t know how, but I’ll find a way. I hate giving up before trying. I’ll find a way to see you. Maybe not at the club, but…”  
  
“Are you asking for my address, Sho-san?” Jun asks, quirking an eyebrow when Sho looks away. “I live in Toshima. Near Zoshigaya. You?”  
  
Sho blinks, like he just remembered that this is the first time they exchanged personal information. The situation makes Jun laugh again.  
  
“You know, I never looked you up,” Jun admits. “Not even when I knew your full name. I never Googled you just to find out what prefecture you might be residing, because I felt I’d know more than what you wanted me to, and in a way it’s an invasion of your privacy.” He shakes his head. “Silly, I know. It’s not like that information isn’t for the public. But I wanted to give you the freedom to decide on what things you want to tell me or not to tell me. Even back then.”  
  
“Isesaki,” Sho replies. “I’m from Gunma, you see. I live somewhere in Kitamachi.” He smiles at Jun, warm and honest. “I’m grateful you told me that. Hardly anyone cares about privacy when you’re a public official.” He shrugs. “Or in my case, an aspiring one.”  
  
Jun groans, reaching down to poke at Sho’s side. “Will you ever let that one go? I wasn’t being mean; I was just looking for the best word to fit your ambitious nature.”  
  
Sho laughs and collapses against him, burying his face against his Jun’s neck in the next moment. “I’ll go see you. In Zoshigaya. If it’s okay.”  
  
Jun noses at his hair, marveling at how good he smells. Sho always smells so fresh, even if it’s been hours since he stepped out of the bath. “Of course it’s okay. If you still want to see me at the club, that’s fine too.”  
  
“Then whichever works,” Sho says, breath fanning Jun’s pulse. “I’ll sort things out. Then I’ll see you again.”  
  
It doesn’t sound like an empty promise, and Jun, his heart full, allows himself to hope.  
  
He tries not to smile when he says, “I’ll hold you to that,” and Sho nips on his earlobe in response.


	2. Chapter 2

He shows up in Akatsuki the following night in a black turtleneck with a light-colored jacket thrown over it. He doesn’t miss the stare Nino gives him when he takes a seat on the makeup chair to allow Ohno’s stylists to fuss with his hair and face.  
  
Jun fishes out his phone, scrolling for anything he may have missed in his messages. In his periphery, Nino’s still looking at him, like he’s waiting for the stylists to finish with Jun so he can say what he has to say.  
  
Jun’s grateful for that. Who knows what Nino might have in mind for tonight?  
  
His phone vibrates in his hand and he can’t help smiling when he sees it’s a message from Sho. He’s only recently acquired Sho’s number, right before Sho left that morning. Sho had to return to Gunma for a meeting, and he woke Jun up with a blowjob that had Jun nearly melting on top of the sheets. Sho kissed him goodbye after, telling him he could stay in the room for as long as he likes, and that he left his number on the notepad on the dresser.  
  
Jun wasted no time, saving it as soon as he regained the ability to move, and when that was done, he went to check his state in front of the mirror.  
  
Which prompted the turtleneck for tonight; Sho rained bruises all over his chest and neck, and Jun spent almost an hour admiring his reflection because of it.  
  
Running his fingers over each purpling bruise made him remember the night before, how easy it had been to give in and to stop hiding. He’s never felt that free before, being able to voice out what he wanted without being judged for it. The marks left on his body reminded him of those feelings—reassurance, security, control.  
  
Jun, for the first time, felt loved and appreciated.  
  
While it was a shame to have to hide those, he knew his responsibilities. The marks wouldn’t fade soon, and while it saddened him to have to hide again, the fact that he had _this_ , this something with Sho made him happy in ways he couldn’t accurately describe.  
  
He senses the stylist, Aya-san, pause when she’s about to dab some face powder on his jaw, and that’s when Nino stands up.  
  
“I’ll do that,” Nino offers, his hand already outstretched. “Aya-san, you can take care of Yama-chan in the next room.”  
  
She nods, handing Nino the powder, and as soon as she’s gone, Jun braces himself.  
  
“Really,” Nino says, dabbing the sponge repeatedly on the powder’s surface, “even at the jaw, Jun-kun? Just how eventful was last night for you that you skipped work entirely and showed up in a turtleneck?”  
  
“You’ve only seen what’s close to my face,” Jun says. It’s the truth. “You haven’t seen what’s down there.”  
  
Nino gasps theatrically, then he laughs. He’s gentle when he applies the powder on the angle of Jun’s jaw to cover up the bruise Sho left there. “For whatever it’s worth, I’m happy for you. I saw you smiling a while ago while you were on your phone. I guess you’re no longer single and lonely?”  
  
Jun reddens and hopes the makeup’s sufficient to hide it. “Shut up.” He’s careful not to show Sho’s message to Nino or even let him have a glimpse of it.  
  
Sho sent him a text asking if it was all right for him to visit Jun on Friday or early Saturday, and Jun eagerly responded with a screenshot of his full address on the navigation app of his phone.  
  
_I’ll clock out early,_ he promised. It’s a privilege he never had to use before, but things were different now. _So be there on Saturday morning._  
  
“Jun-kun,” Nino says, and the way his voice softens from his earlier teasing makes Jun look at him, “are you happy?”  
  
Jun thinks of the complications of being with Sho now—is it too early to call it that? But that’s what it is, he reasons—and finds that he’s willing to risk it. He’ll face whatever happens when it happens.  
  
He gives Nino this tiny, almost imperceptible nod, and Nino smiles.  
  
“Don’t move,” Nino says in the next moment. “I’ll cover this up evenly for you.”  
  
“Thank you,” Jun says, and he’s certain Nino catches on to what he truly wants to say.  
  
\--  
  
Jun continues to work, only disclosing the recent change in his private life to Ohno and Aiba, just so they’ll understand why Jun’s availing the privileges Ohno’s given to all hosts just now. Ohno only asks if they could expect Sho in the club again, and Aiba does the smile that reminds Jun too much of Nino and he doesn’t let Aiba talk when the man opens his mouth.  
  
“If you say something lewd, I’m walking out,” Jun promises. He’s still at the bar, waiting for someone to request for him, and Aiba grins.  
  
“It’s that serious?” Aiba asks.  
  
Jun shrugs. They’re just at the start of something. He doesn’t know yet. “It could be.”  
  
“All right,” Aiba says. “For you, Matsujun, I’m not saying anything. I figure Nino already had it covered, anyway.”  
  
Jun only rolls his eyes and Aiba drops it at that.  
  
He works all night long and sneaks a few messages or photos to Sho when he can, who does the same, though his selfies could use so much work. He’s barely in the photo, and while Jun’s appreciative of his hard work (as evidenced by his texts to Jun), sometimes what Jun needs after a long work night is the face of someone he likes.  
  
_You take shitty selfies,_ is how Jun tells him when he can no longer take it.  
  
Sho replies with a bunch of sad face emojis, but Jun doesn’t cut him some slack.  
  
_Like an old man,_ he adds.  
  
_I am an old man,_ Sho retorts. _How would you take a selfie anyway? You talk big when sometimes you take bad ones too._  
  
_At least my face is in all of them,_ Jun types. _Unlike yours. You should learn how to keep your face in the frame; you’re missing the point of a selfie._  
  
It takes a couple of minutes before Sho responds, to the point Jun already started wondering if Sho’s given up the argument despite not being the type to do so. Then his phone beeps, indicating that Sho just sent him a photo. When Jun opens the message, he’s surprised with what he sees.  
  
The message is a selfie, taken on Sho’s bed, except he’s lying on his side with half of his face mashed against his arm. He’s looking at the camera with half-lidded eyes, mouth slightly open and lips looking full.  
  
And he’s naked. There’s no denying that.  
  
_How’s this?_ is Sho’s subsequent message for him, and Jun laughs.  
  
_Come on Saturday,_ he texts back, _then I’ll tell you._  
  
Jun saves that photo in his phone because he knows he’s the only recipient of it, and that thrills him in ways he couldn’t describe. Whatever this is he’s starting with Sho, he hopes it’ll last. He hopes they get enough time together, as much as they both want when all they have is each other to be honest and open in front of.  
  
Saturday comes, a chilly morning that welcomes Jun when he steps inside the train platform to take his usual ride home. Sho texted him earlier, saying he was driving around the neighborhood to pass the time and that he shouldn’t hurry, but Jun wants to see him.  
  
Maybe he wants proof that Sho kept his word, that they’d still see one another even after. Maybe he’s being soft, vulnerable after clocking out early from his nighttime job. Or maybe he simply misses Sho, and while that’s a scary thought on its own, he allows it to linger.  
  
When Jun reaches his apartment complex, he’s got Sho disguised in a baseball cap, a thick beige coat, loose, worn out jeans, and faded sneakers. He looks nothing like the Sho who visits Akatsuki, all suits and polite smiles, words uttered in keigo.  
  
Jun has his key inserted into the lock when he feels Sho step close, and he casts a wary glance to the corridor. “Security cameras,” he mumbles.  
  
Sho hums. Then, in a lower pitch: “Should I have waited for at least thirty minutes before coming up?”  
  
Before Jun can answer, Sho lets out a small laugh. “Ah, but I don’t want to wait.”  
  
Jun twists the key and opens the door, and it’s Sho who kicks it shut and locks it once more. Inside, he takes off his ridiculous baseball cap, musses his hair, and stares at Jun.  
  
He didn’t shave. He has a stubble growing, one Jun can’t resist touching, fingers acting on their own volition as they stretch out and map the skin. Rough but warm, the fine growths of hair feel somewhat foreign to the touch, but one Jun wants to get used to.  
  
“Usually,” Sho begins, and Jun lets his fingers dance across the curve of his jaw, “I only have you for myself if I buy something expensive to drink.”  
  
“You can always buy me something expensive to drink,” Jun teases, smiling. Sho’s looking at his mouth. Perhaps he wants just as much as Jun does. “I won’t say no to a good bottle of aged wine.”  
  
“Jun,” Sho says, and the way the syllable rolls against his tongue sends pleasurable spikes up Jun’s spine.  
  
It’s all Jun lets him say.  
  
He grabs a fistful of Sho’s coat, causing Sho’s eyes to widen as he tugs Sho to him, their bodies flush against each other. When they kiss, it’s with the both of them making noises of satisfaction, relief, and lust, the heat they generate congregating between them, dispersing evenly.  
  
They move to Jun’s couch without hardly separating, Sho with his hands slipping under Jun’s shirt and leaving ticklish, fleeting touches, Jun with a hand in Sho’s thick hair and the other snaking around his waist to grab his ass.  
  
Sho’s got such a perfect, perky ass that Jun wonders how he managed to hold himself back for so long.  
  
The warmth of Sho’s mouth eventually moves to his neck, sending him tilting his head back and baring more skin, and it’s then that Sho talks, his voice sending vibrations against Jun’s pulse.  
  
“Tell me how your day went.”  
  
It’s the kind of boring small talk that Jun hates but also something fairly common for his clients to say. Except they don’t kiss the column of his neck while they do so. But Jun indulges Sho, plays along this time because he has a feeling that Sho truly wishes to know.  
  
He talks. His words sometimes end in gasps and get cut off abruptly since he had to bite his lip to keep himself from groaning, but he talks. About the mishaps in last night’s shift, the neverending competition in the popularity ranking. He tells Sho about Nino, Aiba, and Ohno, who, for some reason, have decided to make takoyaki in the dressing room, leaving the place smelling like cooking oil.  
  
When Sho laughs, he does it over Jun’s collarbone, something that Jun wants him to do again.  
  
“How long do we have?” Jun asks. They usually follow the club’s operating hours for this, but they’re not in Akatsuki now. They’re on Jun’s couch, spending the better part of the hour by making out leisurely, taking their time.  
  
But with the elections coming, Sho has to be busy. He must have these meetings, luncheons, and charity events to attend to and speeches to deliver and memorize. He probably has to be somewhere in a few hours, and Jun wants to make the most out of what they have. He can’t be selfish, not when they’re just starting with whatever this is that’s happening between them.  
  
“I have to return to Gunma for a dinner event,” Sho says, halting with his kisses on Jun’s neck. Jun already misses him, the feel of his soft, plump lips.  
  
“I figured,” Jun says, and he feels Sho pull back. When he opens his eyes, Sho’s looking at him, studying him.  
  
A thumb runs against his cheekbone, smearing his leftover foundation. “We have until afternoon,” Sho says. “You don’t have to return to the club until tonight, right?”  
  
Jun nods, and he sees Sho smile. Before Sho can speak again, Jun beats him to it. “Tell me about your day.”  
  
Sho tilts his head in amusement. “Like we’re in the club?” His thumb is stroking along the curve of Jun’s jaw in circles, like he’s enjoying how Jun’s trying not to squirm.  
  
“I want to know what you do,” Jun says sincerely, carefully. “If there’s going to be an us—”  
  
“There’s going to be an us,” Sho says determinedly, cutting him off. “No ifs. I’m sure if you’re sure. If you want to.”  
  
Jun licks his lips, hoping his cheeks don’t heat up and betray him. He clears his throat and avoids Sho’s piercing gaze. “As I was saying, if there’s going to be an us, I want to know what you do so I’ll understand the situation better, if there’s going to be a time wherein we have to cancel a scheduled meetup or have to cut our day together short.” He lets out a breath to recollect his thoughts. When he speaks once more, his voice is softer. “I’m not asking to keep track of what you do. I’m asking because I haven’t done this with a politician before.”  
  
At that, Sho smiles, then he laughs that Jun glares at him until he stops. “Sorry,” Sho says, grinning. “Just...you’re so cute. And I haven’t won the election so it’s still aspiring politician for now.”  
  
Jun rolls his eyes, but Sho simply laughs. The way it sounds seems to tickle Jun’s ears.  
  
“On mornings, I do a lot of paperwork. I read drafts of my speeches and make any changes I want before I approve of them. Sometimes there are luncheons that get moved to dinners with sponsors and the like,” Sho explains patiently, smiling gently. “Sometimes I have to attend a meeting with my father, and that takes so long I hardly have time for anything else.”  
  
“What’s he like?” Jun asks, then he catches himself. “I’m sorry. It’s none of my business.”  
  
Sho studies him, peering at his face for a moment before he speaks. “They say I look like him.”  
  
It’s Jun’s turn to study Sho’s face, the curve of his jaw, the shape of his eyes. He tries to imagine Sho being older and finds himself unable to.  
  
“You’re frowning and it’s starting to look scary,” Sho says, but he’s grinning that Jun smacks his arm.  
  
“I’m trying to add twenty years to your present age,” he explains. “You with graying hairs, a hairline so high it can’t be seen when you’re facing front, wrinkles around your eyes, sagging cheeks, and ill-fitting dentures that chatter when you speak.”  
  
Sho laughs. “That’s not how my dad looks like! He doesn’t wear dentures!”  
  
“I didn’t say he is!” Jun retorts, trying not to laugh. Sho’s laugh is infectious; it makes the corners of Jun’s mouth lift up. “I was saying I was trying to imagine you!” He groans. “Don’t you dare tell your dad I said those things!”  
  
Sho’s still laughing, face scrunched. He has an obnoxious laugh, boisterous but somewhat endearing, and Jun’s a little afraid at his seeming vulnerability to it. “You’re so cute. Fuma never told me you’re this cute.”  
  
At that, Jun quirks an eyebrow. He never liked hearing another host’s name from a client when he’s with them. Though Sho’s not a client and Fuma’s no longer a host, he can’t help himself. “Oh? What else did Fuma tell you about me?”  
  
“Aside from the things I already told you when we were at the club?” Sho asks back, a laidback grin on his face. “He said you’re serious.”  
  
“As if you’re not,” Jun points out. “Who was it that never ordered a drink on his first night in Akatsuki until he met me?”  
  
Sho shrugs, feigning innocence. “I never wanted to share a drink with any of those I met before you.”  
  
Jun gives Sho a little push. “Flatterer. Anyone would think you’re the host.”  
  
“I mean it,” Sho says, eyes sincere that make Jun unable to look away despite eye contact difficult to maintain. Sho’s confession makes his heart race, mind swirling with thoughts. “I came back to the club bringing anago.”  
  
The memory makes Jun smile. “I remember.”  
  
“And the anago wasn’t intended for anyone else,” Sho says. “I returned to the club for you. Though, I can’t imagine you’ve never had a client tell you that before.”  
  
“Are you a client?” Jun asks.  
  
Sho meets his gaze. “Am I?”  
  
“I don’t invite clients to my place,” Jun says.  
  
Sho blinks, his expression shifting to amusement. “But this can’t be the first time you’ve had someone over.”  
  
Jun can detect hints of something he’s never heard before, and he smirks, giving Sho a knowing look. “Are you jealous now? Over the idea that I’ve brought people here before?”  
  
Sho looks the other way. It’s cute, seeing him unable to hide how he feels. “I know I have no right.”  
  
“The last person I brought here was an idiot,” Jun says, making Sho look at him once more. “My friend, Toma. He’s the one who made me enter the whole host club business. I brought him here because we had to plan for a common friend’s surprise birthday party.” He peers at Sho’s face. “I like it when you’re jealous.”  
  
“Fuma also said you’re hardworking and determined,” Sho says, diverting the topic. Jun permits it, inclining his head. “That you always give your best to a client.”  
  
“Stop complimenting me like you’re my boss,” Jun complains, laughing. “Did Fuma say something that doesn’t make me look like a robot?”  
  
“He told me you’re the best in the club,” Sho says seriously, eyes watching Jun’s expression. “That in his years of working there, nobody’s taken over your spot. I thought I want to meet that person just to see how he’s like.”  
  
“And what was it like?” Jun asks, curious. “Meeting me?”  
  
“I haven’t been able to stay away since then, surely you know the answer,” Sho admits, lowering his gaze. Jun wants to kiss him. “Before today, I tried to clear my schedule as best as I could. Just so no one will contact me while I’m with you. Right now, I just...want to make the most out of this.”  
  
This stolen moment, Sho doesn’t say, but Jun hears it anyway. He knows their time together is always limited; Sho will always put the elections first. He’s not irresponsible and it’s something Jun likes about him, though it’s the very thing that cuts their time short.  
  
Jun leans forward, angling his head and closing his eyes, pressing his lips against the corner of Sho’s mouth. He keeps it chaste despite wanting more, pulling back with reluctance. “Have you eaten? We can order in.”  
  
“Later,” is all Sho says, turning his face towards Jun.  
  
At the feeling of Sho’s lips against his skin, Jun shuts his eyes and gives in.  
  
\--  
  
It’s Nino who alerts him of things because he’s Nino and he knows a lot of things. Jun’s used to receiving random links in their LINE chat, sometimes of the pornographic variety when Nino feels like sending porn he thinks Jun would like, but the link this time isn’t full of lewd emojis.  
  
It’s just a link to a news site, and when Jun opens it, he’s greeted by a headline in bolded characters:  
  
**Sakurai Sho, 37, tops the popularity ranking for most favorable candidate in Gunma**  
  
He scrolls and skims through most of the article, but he does reply to Nino’s message with a sticker that can mean anything. Lately, he has no time to look at news and gossip sites, and he’s glad Nino’s there to look out for him.  
  
The next time he and Sho meet, it’s still in Jun’s apartment, still with the hour close to dawn, but mere minutes after a rather frantic reunion in Jun’s genkan that involved a show of skill on Jun’s part. At thirty-five, his knees protest a little when he uses them to keep himself propped up as he got to work between Sho’s legs.  
  
“Do I have to buy a champagne tower to have you for myself?” he asks once they moved to the bed, still sweat-soaked with their chests heaving as they both attempt to catch their breaths.  
  
The way Sho turns to his side to face him is so attractive it would’ve made him blush, if only he isn’t so flushed already. “What’s this?” Sho asks with a lazy grin.  
  
Jun thumbs at the droplets of perspiration that caught above Sho’s lips. “How much time do I get to spend with the most favored candidate of the House of Councillors?”  
  
Sho snorts, pushing away Jun’s hand. “I can’t believe you know that. Who told you? Ueda? Or Fuma?”  
  
“Nobody. I read the news sometimes,” Jun says.  
  
“Only sometimes?” Sho asks with a grin that Jun rolls his eyes at. “I’m kidding. And no, no champagne tower needed. I’m here, aren’t I?”  
  
To Jun’s knowledge, the only people who know of Sho’s whereabouts at present are Fuma and Ueda, the latter being unavoidable because Sho has no other chauffeur. To anyone else working for Sho, he’s at his home in Gunma, sleeping and getting ready for a luncheon with their sponsors.  
  
He’s not in Tokyo with a host, and Jun knows it’s better if everyone thinks of it that way. They can never truly stop hiding despite everything.  
  
“What are you thinking of?” Sho asks suddenly, looking at him with narrowed eyes.  
  
“Nothing.”  
  
“Jun.”  
  
The use of his name, more than anything, is what gets him to look at Sho. He wonders if he’s so transparent, if his thoughts are so loud sometimes that Sho can hear them without him saying a thing.  
  
Because Jun’s thinking about it since Nino linked him to that popularity ranking article.  
  
What if someone finds out? What if someone talks to the paparazzi, to the tabloids? Gunma is more than a hundred kilometers away from Tokyo, but how can they be so sure? How will Jun know if tonight might be the last time? They’ve barely established anything because whatever they have right now is so new and raw.  
  
“Don’t,” Sho says, and maybe that’s why he’s so popular at all these rankings lately (because Nino’s link wasn’t the only one after a casual tumble at Google)—he knows how to make someone listen. “Don’t go there.”  
  
“You’re thinking of it too,” Jun says, turning so he’s facing Sho. His folded arms now serve as a pillow to rest his head against. “And you’re telling me not to?”  
  
“Because the last thing I want,” Sho says with an edge to his voice, “is to think about anything related to the elections when I’m with you. I spend more than sixty hours of each week thinking about my campaign, planning for it, weighing in the consequences. Whatever ugly thing you’re thinking of right now must’ve crossed my mind.”  
  
“If it has then why won’t you let me voice it out?”  
  
“Because I don’t want you to worry about it,” Sho tells him. It’s him who reaches out, fingers stroking Jun’s biceps gently, fleetingly. “I don’t want us to worry about it. Not when we’re here.”  
  
“That sort of selfish thinking doesn’t really suit you,” Jun says, but he’s trying not to smile.  
  
“I get to be selfish once or twice a week whenever I go and see you,” Sho says. “But it doesn’t feel enough. And you want to spend this time worrying about what to do when someone finds out?”  
  
Jun feels called out and he looks away, licks his lips nervously. A while ago, they were both so absorbed in one another that nothing else mattered. It’s what makes Jun look forward to the sex aside from it being so good—it makes him forget. In his lust-addled mind, he feels like he can go against anything.  
  
There are fingers on his jaw this time, tipping his head to the side so he’ll end up looking at Sho once more. He resists at first, but when Sho clicks his tongue, Jun sighs and permits it.  
  
“I don’t want to think about winning when I’m here,” Sho says, voice soft. “The idea of it isn’t so inviting, I’ve said that before. But that’s how I feel whenever I’m here, and I can’t run with half-hearted feelings, not when so many of them look up to me and have their hopes on me. Do you understand? I—”  
  
Jun shushes him, pressing his fingers over Sho’s mouth. “Don’t say anything more,” he tells Sho, and Sho thankfully obeys. “I won’t talk about it again. If I can help it. But you can’t tell me to stop searching for news of you because I want to know what you’re up to when you’re in Gunma. All right?”  
  
Sho laughs against his fingerpads, a puff of breath that makes Jun’s skin warm. “All right.”  
  
It’s past seven in the morning by the time Sho falls asleep, and Jun takes a moment to look at his peaceful form. He understands. He understands so much that it hurt to listen to Sho earlier, to hear him so conflicted because they both know.  
  
If Sho wins, this can’t go on. There’s no way they can continue with this once he does; he’ll be under the scrutiny of the media, his peers, and his supporters all the time. He’d have no time for Jun, and Jun would have to let him go. It’s not the eventual breakup that truly hurts Jun—he knows he can move on given time.  
  
It’s the fact that if Sho wins, he’ll have to hide who he is in order to keep up with the expectations around him. He’ll lie to himself, to everyone every single day, and put up a smile while doing it.  
  
And even if the day comes that he’s no longer involved with Jun, Jun knows it’ll break his heart if he sees Sho that way. To see photos and videos of him focusing on public service, all the while knowing how difficult it is for him to conceal who he truly is, the Sakurai Sho that not a lot of people know.  
  
Men like them can never be truly free, and while Jun has long accepted that for himself, he’s not sure if he can accept it for Sho as well. Not when Sho is kind, hardworking, and earnest. Not when he’s the most enthusiastic person Jun knows. Not when he puts in so much effort to care for everybody else.  
  
He drops a kiss to Sho’s shoulder, unable to help himself. Whatever he’s thinking, Sho’s already thought of them. He knows them, must’ve dissected each thought before deciding to be here anyway, his campaign be damned.  
  
Well, perhaps not that extreme, but Jun appreciates it regardless. He’s here despite knowing that the wiser move will be to stay away, and if Sho’s going to risk it, Jun will take that risk with him.  
  
He’ll deal with the consequences when they come. But right now, he contents himself with watching Sho sleep, sunlight seeping through the curtains and bathing half of Sho’s face in an almost ethereal glow.  
  
Jun steals one more kiss, right above Sho’s brow, and settles back, letting sleep claim him.  
  
\--  
  
Sho never pays him a visit in the club, not when Sho himself is starting to garner attention in the political world, but when he sends Fuma to Akatsuki to extend an invite to Jun, Jun has to laugh.  
  
It’s a slow night tonight because it’s the middle of the week, but Jun knows his face isn’t leaving the spot for number one anytime soon. He and Fuma take a walk outside the club as Jun catches a break, and they share a smoke before Fuma speaks up.  
  
“Aniki wants me to invite you to an exhibit,” Fuma says after blowing off a puff of smoke that distorts the colors of the poster Jun’s looking at. It’s a promotional poster for their newly debuted colleague Hirano, which was Aiba’s idea.  
  
“With all of the Sakurai faction present?” Jun asks, smiling. He knows Fuma is privy to what happened at the Four Seasons, but hopefully not what happened after.  
  
Though, Jun supposes Ueda knows that he stayed in Sho’s hotel room that night. There can be no mistake as to what had happened then.  
  
“He said you’ll say that,” Fuma says with a chuckle. “It’s kind of creepy how Aniki can just tell when I’ve worked with you for years and still can’t predict what you’re going to say. Anyway, no, Jun-kun. It’s a museum in Kanagawa.”  
  
That gets Jun’s attention, because he never imagined that someone like Sho would take him to a museum date. He thought it’ll be in some bar in Nishi-Azabu, where he’ll make Sho wait for fifteen minutes just to keep him on his toes.  
  
“Your beloved aniki wants to take me to a museum?” Jun asks, smiling. “When?”  
  
“This Sunday. He’s booked tickets,” Fuma says. “He hopes you can go.”  
  
“And he’s not telling me this himself because?” Jun asks, letting out a puff of smoke. “I didn’t take you for his spokesperson, Fuma-kun. He could’ve sent a text.”  
  
“He wants me to hand the tickets to you in person,” Fuma says with a grin, reaching into his coat pocket. With his job as a junior press release writer, he’s in suits all the time like his boss. It makes him look more mature in Jun’s opinion.  
  
Fuma passes the tickets to him and Jun almost laughs at what he reads. Of course. “How did your beloved Aniki manage to find the time to book tickets for Sugimoto Hiroshi’s museum?”  
  
“He didn’t,” Fuma says. “I did.”  
  
Jun looks at Fuma then, eyebrows lifting in surprise. Fuma simply shrugs. “That’s why he asked me to pass them to you. I got those just this morning. He’s given me two days off to get the tickets and told me to head straight to the club once I have them.”  
  
“Does he pay you enough for you to help him schedule his dates?” Jun asks, running his fingers over the kanji. Enoura Observatory in Odawara, Sunday, from 10 AM until 1 PM. The tickets have been reserved under Jun’s name, and Jun wants to laugh. Sho really planned for this.  
  
“He pays well,” is all Fuma says. “Aniki says he’ll take it from here once the tickets are with you.”  
  
“I didn’t say I’ll go,” Jun says, which makes Fuma pause, expression flickering. Jun laughs. “I’m kidding. You worked hard for these, didn’t you? Of course I’m going. Besides, it’s Sugimoto Hiroshi. And you don’t have to tell him what I said. I’ll tell him myself.”  
  
He figures Fuma’s done enough for this to work. Fuma has likely figured things out on his own, and to Jun, there’s no point denying anything in front of the guy who’s responsible for them meeting.  
  
“I appreciate that,” Fuma says, and Jun laughs once more.  
  
“Do you regret introducing us to one another? Now you’re privy to these things.”  
  
Fuma appears to think about it. Then he shakes his head. “No. Not a lot of people know about Aniki, anyway. I feel honored he decided to trust me despite me being their newest recruit.”  
  
Jun doesn’t say it, but he knows Sho has decided to trust Fuma because he’s seen Fuma’s loyalty and attachment to Akatsuki. That even though Fuma isn’t that close to Jun, he’s truly respected Jun as a senpai and a colleague, and that has left an impression on Sho who seems to value manners over anything else.  
  
It explains his use of keigo when Jun first met him. Even now, Sho sometimes uses keigo before he catches himself, and Jun takes joy in those little moments when Sho forgets entirely and speaks to Jun casually.  
  
“Thanks for doing this,” Jun says, waving the tickets before pocketing them. “You didn’t have to, but you did. He might be your boss, but that’s outside your job description and he probably told you as much.”  
  
“He did,” Fuma says, nodding. “But I agreed because he could use the break.”  
  
Jun finds himself nodding back. Then he faces Fuma, lowering his electronic cigarette so he can see Fuma’s face clearly. “Keep him in your favor, will you? I don’t know how things happen on his side, and you’re the only one who understands how both of our sides work. I know I’m in no position to ask and it’s not really part of your job as his staff, but…”  
  
He trails off, looking at his feet. He doesn’t know what prompted this strange request, especially since it’s addressed to his kouhai. But he means every word.  
  
“Jun-kun,” Fuma says, smiling gently when Jun faces him, “I’ve admired Aniki since I found out that he’s my senpai from university. When I decided to quit being a host to work for him, he took care of me. Even now he takes care of me, giving me that leave when most bosses wouldn’t think twice. If I can, I want to repay his kindness.”  
  
“Then he’s in good hands,” Jun says, turning off his electronic cigarette. “Thank you.”  
  
Fuma waves it off as he stumps his cigarette with the sole of his shoe. He excuses himself politely, even bowing in farewell, and Jun watches him head for the parking space at the back of the club before he returns inside.  
  
\--  
  
When Sho texted him that he’ll pick Jun up with his car on Sunday morning at eight, Jun was expecting Ueda in the driver’s seat of whatever SUV Sho owns.  
  
He wasn’t expecting Sho to be waiting for him outside his apartment, clad in a simple white shirt and sporting a pair of shades, arms crossed as he leans against his car. The sleek black of his vehicle only adds to the appeal, and Jun eyes him for a moment.  
  
“Where’s your driver?” he asks.  
  
“On a day off,” Sho says brightly. “Shall we?”  
  
“You’re driving us to Kanagawa?” Jun asks once he’s inside the car and has his seatbelt fastened. Sho’s car smells like a citrus air freshener, and he’s got some charms from a temple hanging from his rear view mirror, which make an interesting choice of an ornament.  
  
“You can exchange with me if I get tired halfway,” Sho says with a laugh. His windows are tinted and Jun watches him remove the shades by pushing them up his hair before he decides he can no longer help himself. Not with the way Sho looks and smells.  
  
“Wait,” he says, and he only sees the puzzled look Sho throws at him before he leans in. The seatbelt restricts his movement but it’s what he needs to keep things chaste as he plants a quick kiss to the corner of Sho’s mouth.  
  
Sho attempts to kiss back but Jun pushes him back with a laugh, gesturing to the road. “Let’s go. We don’t want to be late for our ten o’clock reservation.”  
  
“It’s until one in the afternoon,” Sho retorts, but he releases the handbrake and Jun leans back against his seat, face angled towards the window. “Would you like some music?”  
  
“Sure,” Jun says, curious as to what Sho would have for his car playlist.  
  
Sho must’ve sensed that Jun’s not into hip hop or rock music, because the next thing Jun hears is a classical piano ensemble from some composer during the late romantic era. It’s slow and rhythmic, soothing to the ears and making Jun feel sleepy.  
  
“Would you mind if I sleep?” Jun asks, though he’s already getting into a more comfortable position. His shift at the club ended only a few hours ago, and right now, the hour is still too early for him despite the sun being high up. He never liked mornings.  
  
“No,” Sho says. “Sleep. I’ll wake you once we’re there.”  
  
Jun does, drifting in minutes, though he doesn’t miss how Sho hums to the piece from time to time and hearing it makes him smile.  
  
\--  
  
Kanagawa is less crowded than Tokyo, or maybe it’s because any establishment close to the sea is miraculously sparsely populated by people even in spring. When Jun steps out of the car, the sea breeze greets him with a gush that cools his skin and makes him close his eyes, savoring the feeling.  
  
When he opens his eyes, Sho’s looking at him. He looks less impressionable with the baseball cap he’s wearing, like he’s not someone important who has big plans for the future of his constituents. Like this, Sho seems to be just an ordinary man who’s about to visit a museum with someone like Jun in tow.  
  
Jun pushes his glasses up the bridge of his nose, somehow glad that the lenses are tinted. He readjusts his hat and clears his throat, glancing at his watch for the time.  
  
“Shall we?”  
  
Sho smiles, the slow kind that makes Jun’s stomach feel funny (not that he’d ever admit it). Sho falls into step beside him and they both take a moment to appreciate the view, how the observatory is situated atop a cliff that overlooks Sagami Bay.  
  
Then Sho nudges him with a poke at his forearm, tilting his head towards the observatory, and Jun falls into step beside him. For a first date, Jun’s feeling a bit jittery, palms a little sweaty. He’s not certain about the cause of his nervousness, really. Maybe it’s the thrill of being together in public, in broad daylight for the first time. Maybe it’s because this is their first real date after that mishap in the Four Seasons. Maybe it’s how Sho was able to tell that this is the kind of first date that makes an impression on Jun, considering his appreciation for art. Maybe it’s the way Sho effortlessly manages to match his pace with Jun’s, the smoothness of it all despite Sho’s persona suggesting otherwise.  
  
Or maybe it’s how they simply fit without needing words at all, and Jun can hardly remember the time he’s been this compatible with someone else.  
  
The hall of the observatory is lined with a row of glass windows that allows the visitors a generous view of the sea. But Jun stops by the first frame he sees and takes in the picture, a black and white shot of the sea in an undisclosed location.  
  
“I saw this in Brussels,” Sho says beside him, and Jun throws him a glance.  
  
“Of course you’ve been to his exhibit in Brussels,” he says with a small laugh. “I’m not really surprised.”  
  
“Have you been to Germany?” Sho asks.  
  
Jun shakes his head. “Not yet. But I’d like to visit it someday. Just to see the architecture for myself.”  
  
Sho hums, and Jun follows him when he moves to the next frame, another seascape but taken at nighttime. It’s breathtaking in its simplicity and lack of vibrant colors. “Maybe someday we can go to Germany. Together.”  
  
“That sounds like it requires a lot of planning for it to happen,” Jun says. “You can’t expect me to organize something like that; I have no patience for planning any of my trips. The more spontaneous it is, the freer I feel. But that’s not to say I’m against itineraries. I do have my own when I go out, but they’re not as detailed as any of yours.”  
  
“I’ll do the planning,” Sho assures him with a smile. “Leave it to me. I’ll take care of it.”  
  
“I haven’t said yes,” Jun says, grinning when Sho’s face falls. “Don’t promise a trip to Germany unless you’re absolutely sure we can make it happen. All right?”  
  
“I said maybe someday,” Sho says. “We’ll see.” He shifts his focus to the picture and inclines his head towards Jun. “Which one do you think suits me best? This one or the one from earlier?”  
  
Jun frowns, unsure of where the question came from. But Sho seems serious with it so he gives it thought. “I think I’d like to see the first one in your living room.”  
  
“Why?”  
  
Jun grins, gesturing to the portrait before them. “So I can have this one in mine.”  
  
He earns Sho’s laugh, a soft puff of breath that makes his shoulders shake nonetheless. “So this one’s better for you?” he asks.  
  
“Not really,” Jun says. “This one and the one before it can’t be compared, I think. They show different things. I just found the first one calming and thought it suited you better.”  
  
Sho hums. “And this one?”  
  
“I think the sea can be deceptively calm at night,” Jun says.  
  
Sho turns to him, but Jun can’t really see his eyes underneath the brim of his cap. “So you relate more with being deceptively calm?”  
  
Jun shrugs, looking away before making his way to the next photo. “Don’t you already know?”  
  
He can hear Sho’s smile when he speaks next. “I do. You think of a lot of things. You hardly take a moment to stop thinking.” He steps closer, and Jun throws a cautious glance around. But there’s no one, except maybe for the security cameras.  
  
“Someone might see,” he says out of the corner of his mouth.  
  
Sho’s fingers brush against his knuckles, and Jun already misses the fleeting warmth left by his touch. “Don’t think for now. Enjoy this time with me.”  
  
“There are so many things I want to do,” Jun admits quietly, laughing a bit. “But can’t because you’re you and we’re both guys.”  
  
“Are you the holding hands type while strolling around a museum?” Sho asks. “I didn’t take you for one.”  
  
“Depends how much I like the person,” Jun says, grinning.  
  
Sho looks at him now, and Jun laughs, taking a step back. “I’m the type who puts their arm around the other’s shoulders. For your future reference.”  
  
“And what else do you prefer?” Sho asks as they walk together, slowly so they can appreciate the next series of photos. They’re black and white photos of lightning and other natural phenomena, breathtaking glimpses of a perfect second.  
  
“Dining out with someone else in tow,” Jun says. “Just in case a client sees me with my date, at least there’s someone else there. It happened before.”  
  
He doesn’t elaborate, but it’s rather convenient if there’s someone else there since Jun doesn’t exactly date women. If a client sees him (again), they’d be none the wiser.  
  
“Would you say no to a private room then?” Sho asks, and his tone speaks of a plan he never informed Jun about. Jun looks at him questioningly, and Sho sighs. “I may have made a reservation after this.”  
  
“Where?”  
  
“Ichome,” Sho says. “They serve nabe and have a private room. Was I being too forward?”  
  
Wherever that restaurant is, it’s pretty close to the club. He sneaks a glance at Sho and sees him uncertain, perhaps wondering if he shouldn’t have.  
  
“Private or no,” Jun says, “that place is mere minutes away from Akatsuki.”  
  
“I can cancel it,” Sho assures him. “Don’t worry.”  
  
“No,” Jun says, shaking his head. “No, don’t. I do want to have nabe; I’ve been craving it lately. I don’t know how you knew without me saying it. But I can call someone.”  
  
Sho inclines his head. “Someone?”  
  
Jun nods. “He knows you. You know him too.”  
  
“Ah,” Sho says, smiling when he catches on. “Nino.”  
  
Jun nods once more. “You’re lucky he takes a day off every week to play his games. We can bother him to have nabe with us.” He fishes out his phone from his pocket and sends a quick text to Nino, asking him if he’s completely free and wouldn’t mind coming along. “Are you disappointed that we need somebody else to be there?”  
  
Sho exhales. “A little.”  
  
“We can have nabe at my place next time,” Jun assures him. Then, without really a care if anyone might see, he thumbs at the corner of Sho’s mouth. “Don’t sulk. If anyone should be sulking, it should be Nino since he has to come along to help.”  
  
That gets Sho to laugh. “How bothersome he must find us to be. Are you sure he won’t mind?”  
  
Jun’s phone vibrates with Nino’s message: a string of unamused emojis followed by a _Fine, for you and your super secret boyfriend. Send me the address and the time, I’ll be there,_ that makes him smile. He shows his phone to Sho, lets him read the message.  
  
“May I?” Sho asks, and Jun hands him his phone so he can type out the location and the time. It’s Sho who presses Send before he returns the phone to Jun, and he makes sure their fingers brush when he does.  
  
Jun nudges Sho’s side with his elbow and they resume their walk. “A reservation for nabe at 9 PM sounds like you have a lot of plans for today.”  
  
It’s only a little over eleven, and Jun wonders what else Sho is up to. Sho once confessed he’s the type who plans out every minute of his day, and Jun’s curious if Sho’s got a list of places he’d like for them to go to before they head back to Tokyo for their late dinner.  
  
“I thought we can have lunch at a seaside restaurant here since we’re so close to the sea,” Sho says. Jun gives him a look, and Sho purses his lips. “All right, I may have looked up a couple of places.”  
  
“And after that?”  
  
Sho remains silent, and Jun holds back his laughter since there are other visitors in this part of the observatory.  
  
“And after that, what?” he prods once more.  
  
“It’s…” Sho bites on to his bottom lip, and he’s really cute when he’s embarrassed. “Well, it’s up to you, but if you’d like to…”  
  
“If I’d like to do what?”  
  
He sees Sho’s hand clench and unclench at his sides, and Jun now has his tongue against his cheek to keep himself from laughing. If Sho wants them to check in at a local hotel, he should just go and say it.  
  
“If you’d like, I was thinking we can look for a place to stay,” Sho says quietly while looking at his feet. “Just to let a couple of hours pass before we return to Tokyo for dinner.” He darts a glance at Jun and Jun sees his cheeks so flushed. “You can say no if you don’t want to.”  
  
Jun quirks an eyebrow. Then, with his voice in a lower pitch than the usual, he says, “Have I ever turned down sex with you?”  
  
It’s fun to see Sho so embarrassed, his cheeks blooming to a darker shade when he looks away, at something over his shoulder despite Jun’s voice so low that it’s only Sho who could’ve heard it.  
  
“Jun…”  
  
“Have I?”  
  
“No,” Sho says. Jun sees him licking his lips. “No, you haven’t.”  
  
“Then you have your answer.”  
  
Jun resumes walking, letting Sho trail after him until he’s calmed himself down. When Sho falls into step beside him once more, he grins. “Say, did you also look up a sex shop for us to visit before we head there?”  
  
He finally gives in to laughter when Sho smacks his arm.  
  
\--  
  
The seaside restaurant Sho takes them to served the best platter of shellfish Jun has seen in a long time, and he doesn’t have to fake a smile or a laugh when he sees how much Sho relishes in partaking.  
  
With clients, most of the time he fakes it. He exaggerates for their benefit, for their pleasure, and for their favor. If they come back, it’s a proof that he did his job well, has catered to what they needed at the time. As a host, Jun knows there are limits to what he can do, that there are voids he can never fill, but sometimes a huff of laughter at a poorly executed joke is what a client needs.  
  
Years of doing so makes Jun adept at feigning interest, at making it look like he cares. But there’s no pretense involved when he reaches over the table and covers the back of Sho’s hand with his palm, his thumb rubbing at Sho’s knuckles.  
  
“Something wrong?” Sho asks, so oblivious at how Jun feels at present. Jun can’t describe it exactly, but seeing Sho enjoy himself so much—like he hasn’t done so in a long time—makes his stomach feel funny in a way that isn’t related to the food.  
  
“You’ve got sauce here,” Jun says, and without a care for whoever might be around them, reaches across the table to swipe his thumb against the corner of Sho’s mouth.  
  
Sho tenses at the contact, eyes widening, but Jun resumes his place like nothing happened, except he licks off the sauce on his thumb without looking away from Sho.  
  
He has to laugh when Sho reaches for a glass of water.  
  
It’s Sho who looks around, still blushing.  
  
Jun tilts his head. “No one saw.”  
  
“How do you know?” Sho asks, but he doesn’t sound angry or worried.  
  
“We’re at the corner of the restaurant, our view overlooking the sea. Everyone’s too busy looking at Sagami Bay to watch me flirting with you. Relax.”  
  
“You never did this at the club,” Sho says. Jun watches him gobble up another row of shellfish from the platter. Sho’s such a big eater, and it’s a testament to how much he works out that he’s got nothing to show for it except for a toned stomach.  
  
“Sure, I’ll poke at your mouth in front of Fuma,” Jun says, snickering when Sho suddenly looks horrified. “Make him resign and look for a job elsewhere, one that doesn’t have his senpais flirting like he’s not present.”  
  
“Please don’t,” Sho says, and Jun laughs again. “He and Ueda give each other this look, you know? Whenever I excuse myself and tell Ueda we’re going to Zoshigaya, he’s going to exchange this look with Fuma like they know what I’m up to, and I always have to pretend I don’t see them doing it.”  
  
Jun grins. “They ought to know that whenever you come to see me, we read poems to one another. We have our own literature club in Zoshigaya.”  
  
Sho rolls his eyes, snorting. The oil from the shellfish platter gives his shapely lips this shimmer, and Jun can hardly look away. “As if they’re going to believe that.”  
  
Jun leans across the table, his elbows locked. “And? What did they have to say about this trip to Odawara?”  
  
“Ueda asked if I was coming home, and Fuma reminded me of a meeting tomorrow at eight,” Sho answers with a straight face, and Jun laughs.  
  
“And are you? Coming home, I mean?” Jun asks, trying not to sound too hopeful but likely failing.  
  
“I have to,” Sho says, sounding apologetic. “It’ll look suspicious if I don’t, especially after being gone for an entire day.”  
  
Jun can only nod. He knows they can only take it this far because they’re not anywhere near Gunma. Anywhere closer and Jun won’t be able to touch him, at least not within the view of everybody. It’s why he asked for Nino’s help in tonight’s dinner.  
  
They watch the sea for at least half an hour more before they leave the restaurant. Sho insists on paying for everything, but Jun gives him this stern look and a single shake of his head, and they split the bill.  
  
Jun volunteers to drive, and it’s Sho who inputs the hotel’s location in the GPS. It’s a short trip that takes less than twenty minutes, and Jun lets Sho pick a room while he proceeds to park the car. Just to be cautious, he waits for ten minutes before unfastening his seatbelt and stepping out, heading inside the hotel.  
  
It’s a small one, not as extravagant as the Four Seasons. To Jun, it’s more of a guesthouse than an actual hotel, and he flashes a friendly smile to the clerk on the desk, shaking his head once to dismiss her offer for help. He waves his phone in a silent explanation that he’s already got a reservation, and she nods and wishes for him to enjoy his stay.  
  
His phone beeps with a text from Sho, and he heads there with light, casual steps. He keeps the brim of his hat lowered to cover his face, and he wants to laugh at the situation. He feels like a national idol avoiding nosy paparazzi in broad daylight, someone who’s rumored to be with an actress for so long that he’ll be accused of cheating once seen with another.  
  
When Sho lets him in, Jun sees that he’s already showered. Jun takes in the room and quirks an eyebrow at the sight of the two single beds.  
  
“There’s an elderly couple who went ahead of me and they booked the one with a bigger bed,” Sho explains. Without his hideous baseball cap on, Jun can clearly see his face. “And they’re right next to us so…”  
  
“So we have to be quiet?” Jun asks.  
  
Sho nods once.  
  
“I’m showering,” he says, and sees Sho blink. “And no, you can’t join me even if you wanted to, in case you’re having ideas to spare that elderly couple. This is a very small room; we can’t fit in that shower.”  
  
Sho looks dejected, but he does wave Jun off, and Jun proceeds to get himself clean. The soap and shampoo provided lack any sort of distinct scent, but Jun’s not aiming for fragrance anyway. All he wants is to have an excuse to strut out there with only a towel, to see how long Sho would last.  
  
Sho’s perched on the edge of one bed by the time Jun finishes with his bath, and he’s got the curtains drawn and the TV on, playing some documentary about the Arctic harp seals. He’s got the volume turned up, and Jun takes the remote from him, turns the thing off before tossing the remote towards the second bed.  
  
“Still think they’ll hear us?” Jun asks. Sho smells good, his hair still damp. He’s tugged his clothes back on, that white shirt of his with a colorful, patterned breast pocket and his pair of loose jeans.  
  
He’s looking at Jun with his mouth slightly hanging open, and Jun smiles.  
  
“Come over here,” Sho says. It’s almost a whisper, but Jun obeys.  
  
When he’s close enough to feel Sho’s breath over his navel, he sighs.  
  
It’s Sho who removes the towel, letting it fall to the floor. It’s Sho who guides Jun to the bed, having him lie on the crisp sheets. It’s Sho who initiates a kiss, done so softly while his hand strays, touching Jun’s arm, his sides, ticklish and fleeting over his nipple.  
  
They make out languidly, leisurely. Jun slips his hands under Sho’s shirt, fingers finding his spine, and he complains against Sho’s mouth about Sho’s clothes.  
  
“Won’t you take them off?” he asks, just as Sho’s lips travel down his neck. Sho’s hands continue to spread warmth as he maneuvers his body on top of Jun’s, and now there’s the delicious feeling of his weight pressed close, though his skin is separated from Jun’s by layers of fabric.  
  
“No,” is all Sho says, and Jun lets out a gasp when he feels teeth nipping at his pulse.  
  
Jun can only lie there, letting Sho do what he wants while struggling to stay quiet. He can hear the sounds of a TV turning on from the adjacent room and realizes that the walls are thin, and it makes heat pool between his legs.  
  
He’s got two of Sho’s fingers in his mouth when Sho’s other hand moves inward, taking hold and making him arch. The sound he makes receives a hush from Sho, who darts a glance at the direction of the next room when Jun meets his eyes.  
  
Sho moves back up, lips resting against the shell of Jun’s ear when he whispers, “They’ll hear.”  
  
True enough, Jun can hear bits of muffled conversion from the next room. A laugh from a man followed by a spirited giggle from a woman. The roll of a luggage against the floorboards.  
  
A tongue darts out to lick the helix and Jun shivers.  
  
“Keep quiet,” Sho says, kissing the corner of Jun’s mouth next. “I’ll make you feel good.”  
  
Jun wants to say something witty, but Sho shoves his fingers back in his mouth and Jun sucks on them in retaliation instead. Sho resumes with his teasing kisses, leaving Jun’s flesh sensitive and heated. He continues in this fashion for a while, taking his time, letting Jun bite on his fingers lightly when the sensation gets too much.  
  
When Sho’s lips close around his nipple to suck, Jun lets out a sound.  
  
“Shh,” Sho says against his skin, teeth nipping on the hardening nub, and Jun arches. He’s got sensitive nipples and he’s never admitted it to any partner, but Sho seems to know with the way he sucks on them, the sound obscene and loud.  
  
Soon the kisses trek southward, Sho’s hand falling away from his mouth to smear saliva across the curve of his jaw, his collarbones. A groan escapes from Jun when he feels Sho lick at the head of his cock, and opening his eyes tells him that Sho’s been watching him for some time.  
  
“Keep quiet,” Sho says for the second time, and any response Jun might have vocalized gets trapped in his throat when Sho’s perfect lips wrap around his cock.  
  
Jun buries one of his hands in Sho’s thick hair, pulling at the slightly damp strands when the pressure gets too much. He bites on the back of his other hand to keep himself quiet as the lewd noises of Sho’s mouth between his legs fill the room.  
  
Just behind the wall, Jun can hear the TV playing various CMs, a series of familiar tunes that he can’t quite focus on. He wonders if the couple next door would hear him if he utters Sho’s name and finds himself so turned on with the idea, at the thought of someone so close they have to stick to silence.  
  
He cants his hips, fucking Sho’s mouth, and moans when Sho permits it. His head ceases bobbing between Jun’s legs, letting Jun use his mouth as he sees fit, and Jun tightens his grip in Sho’s hair as he chases after his building orgasm.  
  
He pulls at the strands when he feels himself too close, and Sho breaks off with a pop that makes Jun’s cock twitch. His lips are swollen and perfect when he looks at Jun, his eyes so dark.  
  
“It’s okay,” Sho says, like he’s speaking to a colleague or a subordinate and not giving permission for another man to come in his mouth. The thought spikes the arousal already present in Jun and Jun shudders, just as Sho closes his mouth around him once more.  
  
The groan he lets out must be a little louder than his other noises earlier, but he doesn’t care. He feels pleasantly spent, breaths rushed when he opens his eyes. Sho slides up to align their bodies, still in his stupid shirt and jeans, pupils blown and mouth a glistening, filthy mess.  
  
Sho puts a finger over his lips. “I told you to keep quiet.”  
  
Jun pushes his hand away and kisses him, throwing a leg around his hip to keep him in place. He kisses Sho until his mouth feels just as sore, until his taste is gone and there’s only Sho and all the things Jun wants him to do now that he showed that he can be bolder.  
  
A hand reaches down, cupping his ass and squeezing. Jun breaks off the kiss and has Sho look at him before he grins, the kind that he makes when he’s struck with a wonderful idea.  
  
“What I’m about to say will scandalize you,” he warns, and Sho’s eyes narrow, “and the poor couple next door.”  
  
Sho throws a glance over his shoulder and looks back at Jun, laughing. “Oh no.”  
  
“But in my defense,” Jun continues, “I’m having such a great time and they’re being so loud with that stupid variety program they’re watching.” He presses his lips against Sho’s ear, sucks on the lobe where the mark of a former piercing is. “Against the wall. Now.”  
  
He expects a string of protests, an exasperated “Jun” from Sho that ends in a nervous laugh, but there’s none of that. Instead Sho pulls back, hauling him up, pressing him against the wall that his shoulder blades are soon in contact with hardwood.  
  
They kiss while Sho’s hands move, reaching for his bag on their side and scattering some of the contents in the process. His haste makes Jun laugh against his lips, but he does help when Sho guides them towards a nearby set of drawers. Jun perches himself on the surface, keeping his legs spread so Sho can stand between them, and bites his lip to keep a groan from escaping when a slick finger slips inside.  
  
“You came prepared,” Jun huffs, hyperextending his neck to provide more skin for Sho’s lips to touch. “You totally planned for this.”  
  
Sho responds with another finger that makes Jun gasp, hips pushing back for more. Tilting his head to the side enables him to hear what’s happening in the adjacent room, and still there are the sounds of a variety program about animals, interspersed with bouts of laughter from a man. Their TV is loud enough that Jun can make out some words, but every syllable is a blur when Sho’s so insistent and attentive.  
  
He tries not to laugh when Sho fumbles with his jeans, shaking his hips to get them off but unable to because of his erection. Jun kisses him lightly, laughing against his lips, and helps him along, tugging off his boxers before squeezing his perky ass.  
  
He holds Sho’s face in his hands as they kiss, as Sho tears open a packet and aligns himself. Jun lets his gasp gets lost in Sho’s mouth when Sho pushes in, head falling back in bliss when he feels so full with the stretch. Sho’s teeth catch on his collarbone in an effort to control himself, waiting patiently for Jun despite being so needy.  
  
Jun kisses his cheek once and tells him to move.  
  
It’s slow at first, their bodies rocking together though the rhythm’s a bit off since Jun’s still adjusting. When it becomes easier for the both of them to move together, he slings his arms around Sho’s neck, wrapping his legs around his hips. He feels the hard press of Sho’s fingers against his hipbones, the warm puff of breath exhaled right at his jaw as they meet halfway.  
  
He hears his name, and he tugs on Sho’s earlobe in response. Sho lets out this shaky groan that reverberates against Jun’s skin, his breaths hurried and hot. Jun pulls back to reach for his face, for them to look at one another as Sho speeds up, rhythm quickly faltering.  
  
Jun wonders if the couple next door can hear them, the sounds of the stack of drawers creaking against the floorboards with each thrust. He finds that he doesn’t really care, planting a noisy kiss on Sho’s full lips. He tightens his legs around Sho’s waist, pulling him closer, and Sho’s mouth drops open in a perfect O that tells Jun all he needs to know.  
  
“Let them hear us,” he whispers, knowing the effect it’ll have on Sho. “Let them know that some couple next door are fucking on top of a dresser and can’t keep it down because—”  
  
Sho clamps a hand over his mouth and Jun feels his body tremble, his moan of satisfaction muffled by biting against Jun’s shoulder. Jun runs his hands along Sho’s spine to help him come back down, waiting for his haze to subside. His hips ache after being pressed against a hard surface for so long, but he waits for Sho regardless.  
  
“Because what?” Sho husks eventually, lifting his head. His hair is so disheveled and his face so flushed, and Jun smiles.  
  
“Because I want to outdo that rerun of Shimura Doubutsuen from next door,” Jun says, and it only takes a beat for Sho’s quiet chuckles to fill the room, his shoulders shaking in Jun’s hold.  
  
“How did you know it’s Shimura Doubutsuen they’re watching?” Sho asks as he eases off Jun’s legs, running his thumbs in soothing circles at the spots where Jun would likely feel sore.  
  
Jun snorts. “I listened.”  
  
“While we’re—? I can’t believe you,” Sho complains, but he helps Jun step down from the drawers as soon as he’s got his jeans snug around his hips once more. He’s gentle when he wipes down Jun’s legs with a damp washcloth he retrieved from the bathroom, and he’s gentler when he guides Jun back down on the bed, the one with cleaner sheets.  
  
Jun snickers when he tugs on the covers and wraps himself on them, giving Sho his back. “Wake me up when it’s time to go.”  
  
“What?” Sho asks. “Hey, where am I going to sleep?”  
  
“The other bed’s perfectly empty,” Jun says, still laughing. The sun’s still up, the afternoon Kanagawa sun unable to shine inside their room thanks to the curtains, and Jun needs the nap. “Good night.”  
  
He hears Sho utter his name in complaint, but sleep is beginning to take hold. He shuts his eyes with a smile on his face, not minding Sho murmuring under his breath from somewhere behind him.  
  
\--  
  
Sho wakes him up three hours before their reservation in that nabe restaurant. He sounds apologetic about it, offering to drive and to let Jun sleep on the car ride back to Tokyo, and that’s exactly what Jun does.  
  
When they get there, they opt to enter the establishment separately as a precaution. Jun keeps his glasses on and hat low, obscuring half of his face when he goes inside after ten minutes. He’s careful not to bump against anyone, thanking the staff who guides him to the room.  
  
Inside, he removes the hat and musses his hair, finding that Sho’s looking at him while nursing a glass of beer. It’s not so different from the ambiance of Akatsuki, except Jun’s not having drinks with someone just to keep them company. This is a date, he reminds himself. Their first.  
  
He slides into the booth across Sho, smiling when Sho quirks an eyebrow.  
  
“I like sitting across the person I’m with,” Jun says, signalling the waiter for a glass of beer. “I’m sure you’ve noticed.”  
  
“I did,” Sho acknowledges with a nod. “In the club, you never sat beside me.”  
  
“I only sit beside people if I have to light their cigarettes or help pour their drinks,” Jun says. “Otherwise, I don’t. I like seeing the other person’s face.”  
  
“Even mine?” Sho asks, grinning. “You’ve seen my face a lot today.”  
  
Jun hums, reaching out. Sho’s jawline is quite prominent nowadays; he’s been losing weight. It only adds to his attractiveness, that evident line of bone when he faces the side, but Jun thinks he wouldn’t mind if Sho eats as much as he likes. With his line of work, he needs it.  
  
He traces Sho’s jaw with careful fingers, enjoying the way Sho reddens. The perks of a private room is that no one would see them do this, except maybe for whoever watches the roll of security camera later. Jun finds that he doesn’t care; he’ll have to restrain himself once Nino’s here. “You know how I feel about your face.”  
  
“Am I the host?” Sho asks under his breath, and Jun laughs, withdrawing just in time for the waiter to arrive with his drink.  
  
He waits until the waiter has politely excused himself before he speaks. “You’re dating one; you should get used to things like this.”  
  
“Like what?” Sho asks, taking a gracious sip of his drink. He’s still flustered. “Smooth flirting? This is second nature to you, isn’t it? You’ve had years of practice. Please give me a break.”  
  
Jun laughs, shaking his head. “Don’t worry. Once Nino’s here, I won’t do anything that’ll make him tease me relentlessly.”  
  
Sho’s eyebrows lift in question, but the door opens to reveal Nino in an entirely unfashionable black jacket and an old scarf. He plops himself beside Jun and pushes some of his bangs away from his eyes before he gives Sho a rather cocky grin with a tilt of his head.  
  
“We meet again, Sho-san,” Nino says. Jun’s grateful that Nino’s careful enough not to use Sho’s surname. “Did you take good care of our Jun-kun?”  
  
“I did,” Sho says.  
  
Jun rolls his eyes at Nino, ignoring Sho’s response. “Not even a minute here and you’re starting this.”  
  
“I’m just worried,” Nino assures him with a wave of his hand. “I’m simply looking out for you; we’ve been together for years but this is the first time you asked me to tag along in one of your dates. Don’t you usually ask Toma?”  
  
“Toma hasn’t met Sho-san yet,” Jun explains, the rim of his glass resting against his mouth.  
  
“So it’s only me, Ohno-san, and Aiba-san who know?” Nino asks like Sho isn’t here at all.  
  
For his part, Sho is just watching the both of them, expression indecipherable.  
  
Jun inclines his head. “I may have mentioned a thing or two to Shun.”  
  
“Figures,” Nino says, reclining against the cushions. He turns to Sho, and now Jun’s worried about what he’ll say. He has no idea what Nino and Sho talked about during Sho’s first visit to Akatsuki. “No chauffeurs this time, Sho-san?”  
  
“He’s on a well-deserved break,” Sho says.  
  
“Who knows what the poor man has seen,” Nino says, snickering. He throws Jun a look. “I know how our Jun-kun can be.” He punctuates his statement with a wink, and Jun smacks his arm lightly.  
  
“Don’t,” he warns, but of course Nino doesn’t listen. “Not that story again.”  
  
“Don’t you know?” Nino asks Sho, who’s now frowning in question. “We had a palm reader visit Akatsuki once, and all of us had our fortunes read. That woman took a look at Jun-kun’s palm and said that his sex drive is out of this world.”  
  
When Sho laughs, it’s boisterous and obnoxious but simultaneously endearing that Jun can’t be angry with him. He laughs with his mouth wide open, his eyes shut, his shoulders shaking. His delight is so infectious that it’s no wonder Nino laughs too.  
  
“Phenomenally out of this world,” Nino says, still with that shit-eating grin on his face. Jun hates him. “Now I don’t know for sure because it’s not my habit to get to know my colleagues that personally, but lately he has this glow and I can only assume you’re one of the reasons.”  
  
Sho shakes his head at that, embarrassed. “That can’t be.”  
  
Nino fixes him with a look. Then he turns to Jun. “If you tell me you’ve never, I’m going to quit being a host.”  
  
Jun’s tempted to tell him, but he can still feel the soreness around his hips from this afternoon. He looks away.  
  
Nino lets out a shrill chuckle that irritates the life out of Jun. “Oh this is fun. It’s not my business to know, of course, but it’s so fun seeing you unable to say a thing. You usually have the last word!”  
  
“I’m still your senpai in ranking, you know,” Jun retorts.  
  
“But not in looks,” Nino says confidently. “I’m beginning to think Sho-san’s the only exception here.” Nino faces Sho once more. “Care to enlighten me why my company during that night wasn’t exactly what you were looking for?”  
  
It hits Jun then, that Nino’s here also for another reason aside from looking out for him: research. When people are not into Nino but are into Jun, Nino’s the type who wants to know why. Not because he’s competitive and wants to do away with Jun’s presence in the club, but because knowing entirely amuses him.  
  
Nino likes knowing everything.  
  
The waiter knocks on the door, interrupting Sho’s response for now. He enters with plates of meat, vegetables, raw shellfish, crabs, and shrimps. He sets up the hotpot before them and asks for Nino’s preferred drink before he leaves.  
  
They start eating after saying their graces; Jun’s feeling pretty famished since his last meal was at the seaside restaurant during their late lunch.  
  
“Well?” Nino asks despite his mouth full of cabbage and a crab stick.  
  
Sho has to swallow first before responding; he’s such a big eater and the allure of watching him enjoy his food is yet to fade for Jun. “You’re wrong on two things, Nino.”  
  
The frown on Nino’s face has to be mirrored on Jun’s. “Wrong?”  
  
“First, I wasn’t really looking for company that night,” Sho says patiently with a smile. “The intention was to indulge Fuma, who wanted to show me the environment he worked in before he got the job. Regardless of whoever entered that room, I wasn’t intending to buy them a drink so as not to waste their time. Fuma simply wanted me to meet his former colleagues and friends during their time at work, and I thought that kind of intrusion is not permitted in any other jobs but the ones you and Jun are in.”  
  
Jun sees Nino react at the casual use of his name; most people at the club call Jun by his portmanteau as popularized by Aiba. Toma and Shun are perhaps the only ones who call Jun by his first name alone.  
  
Sho doesn’t seem to notice Nino’s reaction. “Second, when we met, you were exactly the kind of company I was expecting when Fuma gave me the gist.”  
  
“So I was the stereotypical host?” Nino asks, a hand over his heart. “Ouch.”  
  
“I wouldn’t say stereotypical; you’re a quick thinker and I have a feeling you knew right away that I wouldn’t buy you a drink to keep you for myself for the night,” Sho says.  
  
At that, Nino smiles. “I did know.”  
  
“When we met, I thought of all the women out there who adored you, those who were willing to fork the cash to be with you for an hour or two. And I felt bad for them because you were staying with me instead,” Sho explains.  
  
“But you spent the rest of your stay with my good friend here,” Nino points out, amused. It’s clear he wasn’t expecting Sho’s answer.  
  
Quite honestly, neither did Jun. He had the impression Sho is eloquent, well-versed with a rich vocabulary and an intellectual, but they don’t exactly talk a lot when they’re together.  
  
Sho lets out a shy laugh, his gaze dropping to the bowl of nabe before him. He’s got all sorts of ingredients in it. “Well, Matsumoto-kun looked younger than the poster I’ve seen outside the club and in the pamphlet they handed to me when I entered.”  
  
If Nino notices the change of how Sho refers to him, he doesn’t voice it. He’s sipping the broth in his bowl and looking at Sho like he’s got another question formulating in his mind.  
  
Nino’s beer arrives with another platter of meat, and they wait until the door to the room is closed once more.  
  
“No he doesn’t,” Nino says. “Jun-kun just happens to have had shorter hair when that photo was taken so he looks a bit younger. But that’s not it at all.”  
  
Sho lets out a quiet laugh, and now he’s looking right at Nino. “Ah,” he says, embarrassed. “That easy to figure out?”  
  
Jun doesn’t understand what’s happening; he’s looking at Nino and Sho back and forth.  
  
“You don’t exactly hide it,” Nino says with a shrug. “This far from your hometown makes it okay?”  
  
Jun tenses at the slight change in topic; he and Sho are yet to address the possible repercussions of being together, but it’s already part of their silent agreement that it’ll be impossible for Jun to visit Gunma.  
  
“I’d like to take him to Gunma someday,” Sho says, throwing a quick glance in Jun’s direction. “But that doesn’t seem very likely in the near future, is it?”  
  
“Unless your chauffeur resigns and Jun-kun’s the new replacement then it might work,” Nino says, and it somehow lightens the mood since Sho laughs.  
  
“Ueda would never,” Sho says.  
  
“He loves Sho-san as much as Fuma does,” Jun says, finally deciding to contribute to the conversation. The nabe’s good and he’s enjoying his food, but he’s let Nino talk enough. “You should’ve seen him trying to stop me from leaving that one time; he looked ready to jump and fight for Sho-san’s honor right then and there.”  
  
“When’s the election?” Nino asks casually, oblivious to how the topic makes Jun feel. He and Sho don’t exactly talk about it. Their relationship is quite new that the idea of them not meeting one another during election season has hardly crossed their minds.  
  
It did for Jun, but Jun’s only thinking so much when he’s alone. When he’s with Sho, he somehow forgets.  
  
“Three months from now,” Sho says calmly. Jun is careful not to meet his gaze.  
  
“That’s a lot of time,” is all Nino says, cryptic and devoid of emotion. He’s too busy eating his nabe to take notice of Jun looking at him. “I’m imagining you’ll be more popular when that time comes.”  
  
Nino doesn’t need to say it, but it’s there, hanging in the air. With Sho’s popularity in the election ranking comes the burden of being watched the entire time.  
  
“That will greatly help my staff,” Sho says.  
  
Jun doesn’t say a word anymore, focusing on eating instead. He tells Nino to try the meat; Nino’s never been fond of expensive food but he can’t miss out on this. He can feel eyes on them and knows that Sho’s watching, but Jun can’t look at him right now, not when he’s feeling too many things at once.  
  
He presses the buzzer beside his hand and orders a glass of wine once the waiter arrives.  
  
For his part, Nino diverts the topic to something else. Whether he understood what the wine was for or not, it hardly matters. “You ought to know, Jun-kun, that dethroning you has become Kenty’s goal before the year ends.”  
  
“So he can claim he did it with a sexy flourish?” Jun asks, shaking his head. The wine’s good, gradually helping him calm down. He only saves wine for occasions that has his nerves so frazzled, but the topic of the election still lingers at the back of his mind despite Nino’s efforts. “He can keep dreaming; you’ve been at the club longer than him and you’ve never taken my place.”  
  
“And I keep telling you to soak in the glory for now because it’s only a matter of time,” Nino says with an easygoing grin. “Once people realize that you’re someone who gets angry over your ramen order or the lack of proper sauce for your croquettes, they’re going to transfer to me. Steak sauce Matsumoto.”  
  
“Shut up,” Jun says.  
  
“Steak sauce what?” Sho asks, frowning.  
  
Nino quirks an eyebrow, directing his gaze at Sho. “Oh, you haven’t heard of that?”  
  
“No, I don’t believe I have,” Sho says indulgently, curiously.  
  
Nino smiles, wide and scheming. “Then let me tell you more about Matsumoto Jun here.”  
  
\--  
  
They leave the restaurant past midnight, though it’s Nino who excuses himself first. The restaurant has closed since then, but Sho apparently has some prior arrangement with the owner that they were allowed to stay beyond the operating hours.  
  
“I have to meet someone,” Nino says, glancing at this watch.  
  
“At this late hour? You’re shitting me,” Jun says.  
  
“No, I really have to go,” Nino says. They’re outside, right at the parking space where there’s only the streetlights and the occasional headlights from passing cars that they see. The street is completely devoid of people and other establishments already have their lights shut off for the night. “I’m meeting someone.”  
  
“Someone I know?” Jun asks.  
  
Nino only smiles to himself.  
  
“Ah,” Jun says, realizing who it is. “The one who always outdrinks you. That explains why you only had two glasses of beer tonight and opted for water after.”  
  
“You’re not the only one who has a date,” Nino says, “no matter how late mine might be.” He shoots Jun a salute and nods in Sho’s direction. “Can I trust you with getting our number one back home?”  
  
Jun doesn’t look so he doesn’t know what Sho did to serve as a reply for that question, but soon Nino’s nodding and taking a few steps back.  
  
“See you tomorrow night,” Nino says. “And thank you for the meal.”  
  
Jun only nods once.  
  
“Good night,” Nino tells them, walking away, and Jun hears Sho return the greeting. They both watch until Nino hails a taxi at the corner of the street, and they wait until the vehicle has disappeared out of sight before Jun hears Sho clear his throat.  
  
Jun hasn’t touched him since that time before Nino’s arrival earlier. He hasn’t been looking at Sho either, too wrapped up with the thoughts coursing through his head.  
  
“I’ll drop you off,” Sho offers.  
  
Jun checks his watch. It’s too late to catch any of the trains. “I can take a taxi.”  
  
“Jun.”  
  
“It’s too risky,” Jun finally says, sighing. “Just because you’re in Tokyo doesn’t make any of this safer; if anyone sees us then good luck to your staff in fixing that kind of thing. How many of them are actually trained to sort out the mess that their boss and Gunma’s current favorite is out and about with his rent boy?”  
  
Sho steps in his space then, and Jun’s never seen him angry before. His nostrils are flaring, his gaze piercing. When he speaks, it’s in keigo and his voice has dropped in pitch. “You’re not going to call yourself that ever again.”  
  
“So now I have take orders from you?” Jun asks, defiant. Maybe it’s the alcohol. Maybe it’s the way Nino’s words affected him. Or maybe he’s just too tired of thinking all by himself.  
  
“Get in the car,” Sho says, gesturing to the vehicle.  
  
“I’m taking a taxi, I said,” Jun says. “Don’t tell me what to do; I’m not Fuma or Ueda or whoever’s under your payroll. You buying me drinks or dinner or tickets to a sensational museum doesn’t make you my boss.”  
  
“We’re not discussing this here,” Sho says, gesturing around them. “Not here. Get in the car, I’ll drive you home.”  
  
Jun lets out a breath, trying to keep his temper in check. He knows he’s simply being stubborn on purpose, but the hour is late and fighting in a parking lot isn’t exactly how he envisioned his first date with Sho would end.  
  
He climbs inside Sho’s car without another word, fastening his seatbelt and crossing his arms. Sho starts the car and doesn’t speak until they’re at the freeway, where there are other cars passing by, their headlights reflecting off the windows.  
  
“Do you think I don’t know?” Sho asks quietly. Jun refuses to look at him. “Do you think I haven’t thought about any of this?”  
  
“I think about it a lot,” Jun says. “A lot. And it gets worse when I browse the internet for news about you and find that you’re acing all these popularity polls left and right. It gets worse when I discover that the internet has more and more photos of you with each passing day.”  
  
“Why do you look at those things? Why concern yourself over something you have absolutely no control of?”  
  
“Because it’s what I do!” Jun snaps. He has to exhale to control himself; the outburst was uncalled for, not when Sho’s being so calm about this. “You should have known before you entered this thing with me; this is what I do when I’m on my own. It’s precisely why I didn’t want you to get to know me back then.”  
  
“Why, because you thought I couldn’t take it?” Sho asks. “Or because you think I won’t stay?”  
  
“Well then why are you staying? Why when you know how much damage I can do just by being around you?” Jun asks back. “You said it yourself: I can’t go to Gunma. It’s enough that we’ve been seen by your sponsors and supporters that one time; we can’t afford that a second time. And I get that. It’s not like I’m going to ask you to let me meet your family or see your hometown.”  
  
“Then what is it you don’t understand?” Sho asks. “Enlighten me, Jun, because right now I don’t know what went wrong in the restaurant for you to become like this.”  
  
“I already told you,” Jun says, frustrated. “I already asked. You know what the tabloids will say once they find out who I am to you. You’ve thought of it. Why do all of it anyway?”  
  
The look on Sho’s face softens, and now it’s him who seems exhausted. “You know why.”  
  
“No,” Jun says disbelievingly. “No, it can’t be that.”  
  
It sounds too good to be true. Jun knows he’s a difficult person to be with: he’s annoyingly particular with details, he overthinks to no end, and he fails at compromising. He prefers getting his way and has very little patience with negotiation, especially if it involves work. It’s why he has such high standards for himself, why he seeks to be perfect each time he enters the club.  
  
“Why is it so unbelievable to you?” Sho asks. “Even Nino saw it. You heard him.”  
  
Nino’s words echo in Jun’s head.  
  
_But that’s not it at all._  
  
“No, don’t give me that,” Jun says dismissively, fist thumping against the window in annoyance. “You can’t expect me to believe that you took the risk because you’ve been unable to stay away from day one; that shitty line only works for dramas and we’re not in one. That’s not it.”  
  
“Well shall I give you the sadder version?” Sho suddenly asks, his tone changing. Without waiting for Jun’s response, he continues, “I go out with you because I enjoy your company. I want to be with you. As to why I seem to not mind the risk of being seen with you, maybe I don’t. Maybe I want us to be found out. Maybe I’m tired of all the expectations people have on me, that I have to do this for my family, for my constituents, for Gunma. Maybe I’m sick of being my dad’s poster child for his supposed family legacy. Maybe being with you is the only way I forget and be true to myself. Did you ever stop to think about that? As you thought about everything that’s happened between us, did it at least cross your mind that I’m with you because it’s the only time I don’t feel alone?”  
  
Jun’s too stunned to speak; he can only look at how hard Sho is gripping the steering wheel, how intensely his gaze is focused on the road. His eyes are glistening, and Jun can feel a gnawing ache in his chest.  
  
He can only wonder how Sho feels.  
  
“And what else would you like to know?” Sho asks. “Why I’m still here despite Ueda’s constant warnings for me? Despite the looks Fuma throws in my direction when he sees me smiling to myself each time you send me a message? The lengths the two of them go to in trying to make me stay away, to remain in Gunma and never step foot back in Tokyo, except I don’t follow through any of their sound advice because despite Gunma being my hometown, when I’m in it, it suffocates me and it doesn’t feel like one? Is that what you want to know?”  
  
A tear slides down Sho’s cheek, and he wipes it away quickly with the back of his hand.  
  
“You have no idea how much it helps me when I go here,” Sho says. “To spend time with you, be with you and away from prying eyes. If I see you, I know I can take on whatever the coming week has for me. I know it sounds stupid. I know it sounds too cheesy and very likely to be a lie. But it isn’t. I depend on you for so much, and you have no idea at all.”  
  
Sho sniffs, and Jun sees him swallow.  
  
“You want to know why I take the risk despite knowing how much you can affect my candidacy?” he asks. “I do it because it’s only then that I can breathe. It’s only then that I don’t feel so trapped. It’s only then that it feels like I don’t have to do everything perfectly, that it’s all right to make mistakes, that it’s okay for me to be who I am.”  
  
“There’s nothing wrong with you,” Jun says sincerely, albeit quietly.  
  
Sho snorts. “Tell that to the people who are constantly expecting me to introduce a lovely fiancée each time I go and meet them to shake their hands and offer my most staggering smile even when they make it clear that I can’t be who I want to be.”  
  
There’s an edge to his voice when he adds, “Tell that to my family.”  
  
Jun’s had enough. “Stop the car.”  
  
They’re at the end of the freeway, close to Jun’s compound, and Jun knows he only has minutes left in Sho’s company. Who knows when they’ll find the time like this again?  
  
Sho doesn’t. “We’re getting there. I’m not letting you walk.”  
  
“I’m not walking,” Jun says. He has zero plans of leaving the car until he’s sorted this out. “Stop the car.”  
  
Sho appears to not hear him, but Jun can see how tight his grip on the wheel still is.  
  
“Sho-san,” Jun coaxes gently, a far cry from his voice earlier. “Please.”  
  
They reach a curb before Sho puts the car on hazard, parking the car momentarily. Jun waits until the car has completely stopped before he unfastens his seatbelt and faces Sho, reaching for Sho’s face with both hands.  
  
“Look at me,” he says, and Sho does. His eyes are brimming with unshed tears, and Jun wipes them away with his thumbs. “There’s nothing wrong with you. There’s nothing wrong with you at all.”  
  
Sho looks away, but Jun applies force to make Sho meet his eyes once more. “I’m sorry,” Jun says. He doesn’t usually apologize, and somehow the syllables feel foreign on his tongue. “I never stopped to think what it must be like for you despite knowing how you spend your day. I guess that’s entirely on me since I never really saw myself worth anyone’s time. Anyone who stuck around long enough eventually left, you see. But that’s not my point.”  
  
Sho’s cheeks are warm, and their body heat is starting to mingle with one another the longer Jun holds him. “You’re taking a big risk, something you already know. But I don’t want you to risk your career for me. I don’t want you to lose everything you worked so hard for just because of me. That’s what I was getting at earlier, when I thought that’s how it was on your side.” He laughs a little. “Lesson learned: we should talk more, especially about the important things.”  
  
“What if,” Sho begins, and Jun waits, “I don’t want to win? Is that bad?”  
  
“No,” Jun tells him, assures him. “This is purely me being selfish, but I don’t want you to win either. But if you don’t want to, that’s fine. You’re allowed to want for something despite others making you feel like you’re not. Despite years of thinking that you’re not.”  
  
Jun has no idea, but perhaps Sho’s thinking has been warped by his upbringing, by the expectation placed upon his shoulders since he was young.  
  
“I did want something,” Sho says with a tiny smile. “Still do. It’s why I’m here.”  
  
“And you’re allowed to want it,” Jun says. “Whenever you find the time, come to Tokyo. Or anywhere but Gunma. Anywhere that you don’t feel like you’re being held back. Come see me, come to me. I’ll be here or at Akatsuki; you’ll know where to find me. You’re not alone anymore.”  
  
Sho sticks to silence for a few seconds, and Jun’s almost afraid he won’t say a word until he hears the click of a seatbelt, sees Sho unfastening it before leaning close, and Jun only shuts his eyes.  
  
The kiss this time is sweeter than any of the previous ones they shared. There’s no need or overwhelming desire, only acceptance and comfort as their lips part to meet again in the middle. Jun holds Sho’s face in his hands, cherishing his presence here, his soft sighs against Jun’s mouth. He lets Sho’s fingers bury themselves in his hair, and for a while they become indulgent, allowing themselves this stolen moment of getting lost in one another.  
  
Right now, it’s only the fact that Sho’s here with him that matters.  
  
Jun is still not a fan of compromising, but for Sho, he can try.  
  
\--  
  
It’s not the movies, so the problems don’t magically disappear after they had that moment in Sho’s car. But it helped Jun understand better, to figure out ways for them to meet. It’s taking a lot of work, especially during times when they don’t meet at all, but Sho’s words linger on the back of Jun’s mind each time he chooses the dark path of diving into that well of ugly thoughts.  
  
In his own way, he’s helping Sho by simply being there. It’s a comforting idea that there’s someone out there who thinks going back to Jun every time is worth it; Jun’s always lived off validation. He needs to hear the words, has to read them for him to believe.  
  
It’s like being with a client who completely adores him and forks the hard cash for his company with each meet. Only that his compensation for being with Sho is not so materialistic, not when it’s mutually beneficial for them both.  
  
Sho’s never heard the words back, but his presence in Jun’s life grounds Jun. Sho being there reminds Jun not to lose himself too much in the job, to always leave a part of him intact after each night so it’ll be easier to revert back to how he usually is without the foundation and styling gel.  
  
Because Sho is there, Jun has someone to go back to. Someone who accepts the protein shakes, gluten-free noodles, tacky shoes, and odd collection of plants. Someone who laughs at his choices but stays anyway.  
  
And yet, there are times Jun finds it hard. It’s hard when they can only meet in private, when they can’t even go out for movies or karaoke together. It’s almost always home dates and if they’re feeling adventurous, they have to be so far from Gunma or Tokyo so no one will know. There’s a thrill to it, the secrecy of it all leaves a spark of adrenaline each time, but it quickly fades out and an aftertaste of something like frustration and jealousy is what remains.  
  
Because while Jun is appreciative of Sho’s presence in his life, he’s also a person who easily gets envious. Not of another party—though Jun’s had his share of cheating partners in his life before—but of everybody else. He knows there’s no use comparing since it’s all different for each person, but he can’t help it sometimes.  
  
Mostly, he knows that the frustration stems out from being unable to openly support Sho in what he does. Unlike Sho who can still show his support by sending Fuma or Ueda in Akatsuki (things he’s done in the past), Jun can never do the same. To the people of Gunma, Matsumoto Jun was a one-time thing, an acquaintance in Tokyo who collects snow globes from each country he visits for work. He’s not Sakurai Sho’s confidante or partner—he doesn’t exist.  
  
He can’t exist. He’ll always be that shroud of mystery surrounding Sho why he’s still a bachelor despite his age, face, family status, and popularity, that line Sho never crosses in any of his interviews, always answered with a noncommittal laugh or a polite smile.  
  
To Jun, whenever he sinks so deep in his thoughts and it’s difficult to climb back out, it makes him feel like he’s nothing. Despite Sho’s words, despite the proof Sho continuously gives him. He’s never satisfied; he’s always been ambitious and overachieving, always wanting to outdo himself.  
  
He’s wallowing in self-pity when a call comes from an unknown number, and thinking it’s a random telemarketer who’s simply trying to do his shitty job, Jun answers.  
  
Except it’s not a telemarketer. It’s Ueda, his words in keigo and voice a little deep and somewhat scary.  
  
“Matsumoto-san?” he asks from the other line.  
  
Jun blinks. “Yes? Has something happened?” He’s careful not to mention Sho, but he knows Ueda picks up on his meaning. Why else would he call on the middle of a work night for Jun?  
  
“Aniki’s fine,” Ueda answers. “I’m sorry for the intrusion. But I’m calling just to ask if you can have tomorrow night free? I understand your line of work and I hate to impose, but it’s for Aniki.”  
  
“What about him?” Jun asks, tucking the phone between his shoulder and ear as he signals to Aiba that he has to depart the floor momentarily. Aiba nods from across the room and Jun makes his exit. “You said he’s fine. What’s this now?”  
  
“We’re planning to celebrate his not-so-official win,” Ueda explains. Jun tries to ignore the feeling of his stomach dropping; he’s read the news. “His opponent has officially withdrawn his candidacy, which makes Aniki the only hopeful candidate for Gunma now.”  
  
Jun shuts his eyes, gripping his phone hard. He’s congratulated Sho via text when he read the news, but Sho is yet to reply. Without his words, Jun has no idea how he feels about it. But his subordinates mean well, and Jun doesn’t want to ruin their team spirit, the feeling of accomplishment, of victory. “What time tomorrow and where?”  
  
“Fuma can pick you up tomorrow around eight in the evening if you’re agreeable,” Ueda offers. “It’s a private restaurant and bar here in Gunma. We know you’ve never been to Gunma, Matsumoto-san, but it would mean so much if you can make it.”  
  
“Why?” Jun finds himself asking. “Why would it? I’m not part of his campaign team. I’m an outsider.” I’m not even from Gunma, he doesn’t say.  
  
“To Aniki you’re not,” Ueda simply says. He has the kind of voice that’s imposing and terrifying at the same time, and Jun wonders if that’s the reason Sho keeps him around. Aside from Ueda adoring Sho’s every move, of course.  
  
“He doesn’t know of this, does he?”  
  
“We’ve been careful enough to not let him know a thing,” Ueda says. “Aniki can be pretty dense sometimes. I’m sure you know.”  
  
That earns Jun’s smile. “Eight?”  
  
“At your workplace or somewhere else if you prefer,” Ueda says. Jun‘s grin broadens; Ueda’s careful enough to not mention Akatsuki or refer to it as a club. Jun has no doubt he’ll take Sho’s secrets to his grave should it be asked of him.  
  
Ohno’s not going to like the idea of Jun disappearing to a sudden commitment with such a short notice, but Jun can always make it up to him by working his ass off to earn double on a Sunday night. Jun can already imagine the way Ohno’s nose would scrunch in annoyance before he begrudgingly agrees.  
  
“Eight then,” Jun says. “Tell Fuma I’ll meet him at the club.”  
  
For a moment, there’s silence on the other line, then Jun hears Ueda’s rushing exhale. “Thank you, Matsumoto-san.” His voice grows softer when he adds, “He’s coming.”  
  
Jun can hear a series of quiet cheers followed by clapping, until Ueda shushes whoever’s with him. “What’s going on there?”  
  
Ueda sounds apologetic when he explains. “It’s not only me who thought of inviting you, Matsumoto-san, there are a few of us here. Only a handful, I assure you. We know and we all wanted you to come.”  
  
“So it was up to you to make this call and invite me?” Jun asks.  
  
“Yes. And we’re all grateful you agreed.”  
  
Jun shakes his head. He’s never officially met the other members of Sho’s fanclub aside from Fuma and Ueda, but Sho talks about them with so much fondness that Jun’s been wanting to. He figures that the opportunity has come, now that he’s agreed to go to Gunma as a surprise.  
  
So many things could go wrong, considering how spontaneous this plan is. But it’s the first time Jun will feel some sort of involvement in this aspect of Sho’s life, and he’s not an idiot to not seize that moment.  
  
Friday night comes, and the drive to Gunma has Jun looking at how the cityscape changes as he travels farther from Tokyo with each passing second.  
  
Fuma’s car smells something like a dried flower, and he’s chatting animatedly and giving Jun an overview of what the celebration is for. It’s a simple gesture of surprise, of appreciation for Sho’s hard work now that it finally paid off. Sho’s opponent was a sixty-three-year-old boasting with experience, and the fact that Sho has managed to convince the old man to step down is a huge feat in itself.  
  
Or so Fuma says; he’s full of admiration for his boss. Not that Jun’s belittling Sho’s achievements as of late, but he’s a no match for Fuma’s complete adoration for Sho. It’s like Sho can do no wrong in his eyes, to the point he’s willing to bring his beloved Aniki’s significant other in forbidden territory in total secret.  
  
“He doesn’t know I’m coming?” Jun finds himself asking, just to be sure. He wonders how Sho will react.  
  
“No,” Fuma says. “Frankly, we’re all a little excited and scared. Excited because Aniki truly doesn’t know a thing and a little scared because he has no idea you’ll be there.”  
  
“Is mentioning me taboo for you guys?” Jun asks.  
  
Fuma shakes his head. “No. Well, if we can, we try not to. No one can know, of course.”  
  
Jun nods, leaning back. It’s not everyday that a kouhai drives for him to help him see his boyfriend. It’s been weeks since he and Sho met, since that date in Enoura. “Of course. Am I meeting someone who has no idea what we truly are to each other or do all five of you in his fanclub all know who I am?”  
  
“We know,” is all Fuma says, and it’s enough.  
  
Jun tries to content himself with that, that for tonight, he might be hiding in plain sight, but at least he doesn’t have to hide who he is once he’s there since they all know.  
  
\--  
  
The restaurant Fuma takes him to boasts of traditional Japanese cuisine, the establishment an old house with tatami floors and sliding doors. Jun is led to a series of doors before they reach the end of corridor and enter a private room, where he’s met with youthful faces of people he’s only seen in a few photos Sho has shown him in his camera roll.  
  
To Jun’s surprise, those three he hasn’t met in person until now stood up at the same time and bowed so deeply before him, like he’s some important public official and not a host.  
  
One of them smiles so widely that Jun’s face aches from just looking at him. He doesn’t tell him that, though, instead offering a small smile in greeting.  
  
It’s Ueda who does the introductions, and the guy with a broad smile is introduced to Jun as Masuda, and Jun laughs when he remembers.  
  
“Sho-san told me you’re stalking him,” Jun says, and the way Masuda’s face contorts in surprise is hilarious.  
  
“More like he’s stalking me! He’s everywhere I go!” Masuda claims, and Jun laughs once more when he catches Ueda rolling his eyes. Obviously, in their small group, it’s Ueda who keeps everyone under control since they’re all comprised of different personalities.  
  
“Aniki went to the washroom so take your seats,” Ueda tells everyone. To Jun: “Matsumoto-san, you can sit anywhere, of course.”  
  
Jun waits until everyone’s seated, until he finds the seats they saved for him and Sho, and he finally takes his place. The spot next to him is empty, and while Jun doesn’t have the habit of sitting beside Sho in any of their dinners, he needs the proximity for the surprise to work.  
  
Also, maybe he’s appreciative of the care Sho’s fanclub has shown for him. They’ve been nothing but polite, if a bit noisy, offering drinks and other refreshments and ensuring Jun’s comfort. Jun has turned down each offer and only opts for a serving of tea since he doesn’t like sake, and he tries not to be too obvious when the door slides open once more.  
  
Sho enters, all smiles and carefree demeanor, but he halts in his tracks when he sees Jun. He blinks repeatedly, then he looks at everyone, and it’s Ueda who explains. About the invite, how Jun got here and why he’s here.  
  
Jun fiddles with his scarf and pushes his glasses up his nose. He’s opted for larger frames this time, knowing it’s unlike him, and Sho’s yet to look at anybody else since he came in.  
  
Jun almost wants to admonish him, to tell him that his loyal fans are watching, but he likes being the recipient of that stare too much. He likes the way Sho takes him in after not seeing him do so for a long time.  
  
“Did they take you from anything important?” Sho asks when he approaches, occupying the spot beside Jun. He’s out of his suit jacket, the first few buttons of his dress shirt undone and tie loose, and still he smells so good. “Did Fuma kidnap you?”  
  
Jun shakes his head. “Idiot, you know they didn’t.”  
  
“You’re really here,” Sho says, a little too quietly and somewhat breathless. Jun wants to kiss him when he looks over and sees how happy Sho is. “I can’t believe they found a way to bring you here.”  
  
Jun shakes his head once to gesture around them, to wordlessly tell Sho that there are people watching them. People who know, of course, but they don’t have to see this. Sho seems to take the hint, focusing on everybody else in the next moment.  
  
“I don’t know whose idea it was to bring Matsumoto-kun here,” Sho says, “but I hope you didn’t inconvenience him in any way.”  
  
Jun nudges Sho with his elbow. “I took a night off; you can relax. Besides, they did this to celebrate for you.”  
  
“Well, I’m grateful,” Sho says, and Jun likes the way he blushes when Jun tells him off. From the looks of Masuda and Fuma’s faces, it’s evident that nobody else gets to contradict Sho or tell him to quit it once he’s onto something. Jun’s beginning to see what new thing he brings on the table; he’s the only one who can challenge Sho and expect Sho to back down.  
  
Their food arrives, and Jun is treated to a bunch of stories about Sho’s mishaps with the coffee maker and the water dispenser at the office, to Sho’s poor drawings and oddly timed old man jokes. While his kouhais openly adore him, they’re not so lenient with his fashion choices and lack of athleticism.  
  
“It’s why we never win in any of the local sports fests,” Fuma complains. “Aniki can’t even catch a falling marshmallow with his mouth.”  
  
“What the hell are you badmouthing Aniki for?” Ueda asks all of a sudden, leading to a sudden commotion that requires an intervention of the Sho variety and sending Jun laughing.  
  
Jun stays sober while the rest of his companions take their fill of alcohol, and sometimes he takes it upon himself to refill Sho’s cup of sake. Sho’s a little tipsy but not completely inebriated, his laughter loud and expression carefree.  
  
It might be the first time he’s been able to show this side of himself to the people at work, and Jun’s glad to be able to grant him this opportunity despite being only an accessory to the scheme. If Sho’s happy, then nothing else matters.  
  
The night quickly passes and to ensure secrecy, they don’t leave at the same time. A large group will attract attention so they leave one by one or in pairs. He and Sho wait until everyone else has left, until even Ueda has taken Sho’s offer of leave, though not before voicing out his worries on whether or not Sho can get home safely despite Sho’s assurances for him.  
  
“That guy,” Jun says after Ueda has given up and finally left, “is the one who finds everything you do to be absolutely wonderful. He won’t even hear a negative thing about you.”  
  
“Ah,” Sho says, smiling, “he’s a good guy. Well, they all are, but they’re all different in their own ways.”  
  
“I’ve noticed. What a rowdy bunch you’ve gathered.”  
  
“You didn’t feel pressured into coming here, did you? They didn’t tell you anything like not being here would make me feel sad or—?”  
  
Jun laughs. “If anything, your loyal chauffeur was apologetic he made me skip work just by being here. I told you it’s fine. I’ve talked to Satoshi.”  
  
“I’m glad,” Sho says sincerely, and now that they’re alone, he’s done with being subtle, his sole focus entirely on Jun.  
  
The attention makes the tips of Jun’s ears burn. “It’s not like it’s been a month.”  
  
“Feels like it,” Sho says. “I haven’t seen this pair of glasses on you before. New ones?”  
  
“If I wear my usual ones, it’s a little too me, don’t you think? I thought I had to put a bit of effort to have a simple disguise.”  
  
“Simple,” Sho repeats, nodding. “As if you can hide with that face.” He props his chin on his knuckles and openly stares, making Jun self-conscious. “You have no idea how you look, do you?”  
  
“I work at a host club; try again,” Jun says with a scoff, and Sho laughs. “I know how I look tonight. If anything, I’m glad it has an effect on you; it means I haven’t lost my touch.”  
  
“As if you’ll lose your touch when you’re with me,” Sho says. Jun sees him glancing at his watch. “Shall we?”  
  
“I can take a taxi,” Jun says. The hour is late and it’s only them left in the private room, and Sho’s yet to say a word. The most he’s done tonight is to steal glances in Jun’s direction, to laugh at the jokes made by his kouhais while his hand rests on Jun’s thigh under the table.  
  
“Back to Tokyo?” Sho asks. Jun can’t make out his tone.  
  
“Yes,” Jun says. The night is over.  
  
Sho shakes his head, and Jun is quick to dismiss him. “Don’t suggest anything stupid.”  
  
“Come home with me,” Sho says anyway.  
  
Jun directs a pointed look at the sake and back at Sho. “This is exactly why I stayed sober.”  
  
“It’s a Saturday night, Jun,” Sho says. “I’ve spent four hours sitting here, trying not to do anything stupid while all my kouhais are around. Now that it’s just the two of us, you’re telling me you’re going home?”  
  
“What if somebody sees?” Jun almost hisses. They’re in Sho’s hometown; there might be eyes watching Sho everywhere.  
  
“Then you’re a visiting friend who has to stay the night,” Sho says. “Stop overthinking.” He reaches for Jun’s hand under the table, squeezing for emphasis. “Come home with me.”  
  
Jun knows the right thing to do is refuse, but he can’t exactly resist Sho when he looks this hopeful and open. Not when he missed Sho as well and he only has to return to Tokyo by tomorrow morning.  
  
Who knows when he’ll step foot in Gunma again?  
  
“I’ll take a separate taxi,” Jun says, sighing, “and I’ll leave in the morning.” He tries not to react so visibly when Sho smiles.  
  
\--  
  
Sho’s place is on the ninth floor of a high-rise condominium, minimalistic in decoration but adorned with things that are very Sho in ways Jun can’t accurately describe.  
  
“Make yourself at home,” Sho says as soon as they’re inside. Jun has taken his pick of the slippers Sho offered to him, strutting inside the apartment like he owns it. He already hung his scarf like he’s been here before. “Though I guess it needs no saying.”  
  
“Your walls are really stylish,” Jun notes when he takes a proper look around, “for an old man.”  
  
“If you touch that, you’ll get white powder on your fingertips,” Sho says. “The downside of it, really.”  
  
Jun takes a look at the wall and almost laughs. “When did you get this?”  
  
At a portion of Sho’s wall hangs a seascape by Sugimoto Hiroshi, one depicting a calm ocean at daybreak. Jun can easily recognize it after seeing a bunch of similar portraits weeks before.  
  
“A while back,” is all Sho says. He’s closer now, breath fanning Jun’s nape and making the hair there stand.  
  
Jun offers no protest when Sho breathes him in, an arm looping around his waist. He stays there and lets Sho hold him, content to let the minutes pass in companionable silence.  
  
“It’s lovely,” Jun says. “It distracts me from your collection of snow globes that can totally use a shelf.”  
  
Sho’s chuckles are ticklish against his skin. “I’ll get a shelf someday.”  
  
“So you’ve been to Singapore, Korea, Canada, Russia, India,” Jun muses after a passing glance at Sho’s collection. “And more I can’t recognize. Did you buy all these yourself or were they gifts?”  
  
“Got them all myself,” Sho says. “I don’t like it when people buy it for me, I feel like it defeats the purpose.”  
  
“All right, noted,” Jun says with a laugh. “Good thing it never crossed my mind to buy a snow globe for you.”  
  
There are Sho’s lips leaving featherlight touches at the back of his neck, soft and teasing, and Jun sighs. He tries not to sag against Sho’s hold, but he’s been craving the comfort. Finding his footing is never a difficulty despite the distance; whenever he finds his way back, Sho’s already there, waiting.  
  
Like now, it doesn’t take much. Jun lets out a rushing exhale, tongue darting out to wet his lips.  
  
“Don’t leave in the morning,” Sho whispers.  
  
Jun smiles. “A little clingy there, Sakurai-san.”  
  
“I’ll have Ueda drive you back to Tokyo by noon. Just not in the morning. Not yet.”  
  
“Well,” Jun starts, turning so he can face Sho and link his arms loosely around his neck, “how about this? If you know what to say, I can be persuaded.”  
  
The way Sho grins is quite lethal and attractive that it almost makes Jun take his words back.  
  
“Despite my reputation of being eloquent,” Sho says, “I don’t always know what to say.” He presses closer, lips now resting against Jun’s cheek. “But right now, I know what I want to do.”  
  
Jun will never say it to Sho’s face, but he loves it when Sho seizes control, when he’s exuding confidence and charisma like he knows exactly how to make Jun putty in his hands.  
  
Perhaps he does. His fingers roam, slipping inside Jun’s sweater and tracing his spine, and Jun sighs, back arching.  
  
He’ll stay for as long as Sho wants him to.  
  
\--  
  
**Sakurai Sho, 37, holds a successful charity event in Isesaki**  
  
**Gunma’s opinion on Sakurai Sho makes him the prefecture’s most eligible candidate**  
  
**Predictions for upcoming elections cements Sakurai Sho as Gunma’s strongest candidate to date**  
  
The list never ends. Jun only has to count a few days and there’s always a new one, sometimes with a photo of Sho attached aside from a collection of the public’s opinion of him. They love him because he’s smart, charming, and young. They adore him because he’s new blood, a fresh face. Jun has no doubts about the impact of that face; he’s not exactly immune to it.  
  
He skims through the articles despite not really understanding the influence that Sho’s party has. The less he knows, the better for his sanity. But each article only promotes the idea that he can never set foot in Sho’s hometown again and never see that aspect of him in person.  
  
It’ll always be that Sho, the one who comes to his place at dawn seeking comfort, company, and acceptance. Jun will never deny him these things, but he can’t help feeling prohibited despite knowing Sho would never.  
  
These are things he can never tell Sho himself, and things that he can never let Nino know. For Sho’s part, he’s got a lot on his plate already. With every photo they post of him, Jun sees the eyebags, the weight loss, the smile that always failed to reach his eyes. For Nino’s, he knows too much already.  
  
When Sho cancels on their scheduled meetup for the first time since they started going out, giving an excuse about his father suddenly dropping a visit to Gunma with all of their family’s big-time sponsors, Jun invites himself to Toma’s place and forces Toma to entertain him.  
  
Despite it being early morning, Toma knows him well enough that he sits beside Jun on his couch, some animated movie playing on the TV serving as their background noise.  
  
“You either start talking or I’m going to do some social media digging, take your pick,” Toma offers. Normally Jun doesn’t feel threatened by such things, but Toma can pass for a private investigator with his online skills. With only a few clicks, he’ll probably find Sho’s instagram despite Jun never breathing a word about Sho to Toma before.  
  
Not that Jun has mentioned Sho in any of his social media accounts, but Toma has his ways. It’s better not to underestimate him even if he’s a complete moron by Jun’s standards.  
  
“I’m with someone,” is how Jun chooses to start.  
  
Toma only hums. “Yeah, well, Shun and I kind of figured that out? You never crash into any of our places anymore, and the last time that happened was maybe two or three years ago. Shun said you either have someone new or you’re just being dumb about not wanting to impose. I couldn’t decide which was which, so at the time I had no comment.”  
  
“I’m with someone and he’s kind of a big-time person,” Jun continues, ignoring Toma’s response for him. It only proves that he’s really quite obvious when it’s his friends who take a look.  
  
“The Prime Minister?” Toma asks.  
  
“Fuck you, he’s not that old,” Jun says, rolling his eyes.  
  
Toma gasps. “So he is old? I always knew you were into older men.”  
  
“He’s only thirty-seven, you can chill,” Jun tells him, not without annoyance. “But he’s quite popular in his hometown, so there.”  
  
Toma is silent for the next few seconds, foot thumping against the floor in a steady rhythm. He probably realized he’s the first person outside Jun’s work environment to know about this in person, because when Jun mentioned a thing or two to Shun, it was over the phone and he was still in that hotel room in the Four Seasons, still uncertain of how things would go even after that first night.  
  
“You have to give me a name eventually,” Toma says. “You know I’ll find him anyway if you don’t, given only a fair bit of time.”  
  
Jun takes a gracious sip of his beer before he talks. “Sakurai Sho.”  
  
Toma is on his phone in the next moment, undoubtedly being that asshole who immediately does an online search on his friend’s boyfriend. Jun permits it, only because he wants Toma’s reaction after he skims through a few articles.  
  
When Toma speaks, minutes have passed. “At least his Instagram is locked.”  
  
“How were you able to find his Instagram in less than ten minutes?” Jun asks, a little appalled.  
  
“I’ve got my ways,” Toma says. “So? You’re dating a politician now. It’s about time you moved on from aspiring actors and fake playwrights. Or from high school gym coaches.” Toma smiles. “You’ve had such bad taste before, it’s unbelievable.”  
  
Jun swats at his arm. “The gym coach wasn’t that bad.”  
  
Toma makes a face at him. “You’re just saying that because you like the guy’s body. I get it. I don’t need the details.” He shows Jun the screen of his phone, still on Sho’s private Instagram page. “Of course you’re following him, right?”  
  
Jun rolls his eyes. “Of course.”  
  
Toma outstretches his palm. “Come on.”  
  
Jun shakes his head. “No way, asshole.” He’s seen the photos in Sho’s account, his personal chronicle of old man selfies.  
  
“This is damage control already,” Toma says. “If he has a photo of you two implying that you’re together, that can go a long way. We don’t want your face on Friday or something.”  
  
“For the record, I hate you a lot,” Jun says petulantly, handing Toma his phone after he unlocks it. “I don’t check his Instagram all the time so don’t bother accusing me of that.”  
  
Toma only hums thoughtfully, thumb too busy scrolling. Then: “Jun, I always knew you liked older dudes.”  
  
“No I don’t.”  
  
“Even my dad is better at selfies, and he sucks at them so bad I always thought he’ll be undefeated,” Toma says, laughing. “Of course you hit the like for his shitty selfies anyway, you’re so predictable.”  
  
Jun attempts to grab his phone back, but Toma keeps it away from him. “Stop stalking him. I didn’t come here for that.”  
  
“So he holds charity events and feeding programs,” Toma says, totally paying no mind to Jun’s distress because he’s a shit. “A true saint. His people must love him a lot.” Then Toma glances at Jun. “And? You like him a lot?”  
  
Jun doesn’t respond.  
  
“Of course you do. That’s why you’re here. You’re probably mere seconds away from telling me about the consequences of being with this guy, but as long as it doesn’t involve him being an asshole to you, I’m not going to hunt him down,” Toma says. “I’m just going to listen, maybe offer a few comments that’ll annoy you, but I’ll listen.” He sighs. “It’s better than you pulling a vigorous training exercise that might speed up your heart rate until the poor organ explodes when all you need is an ear or two.”  
  
“He’s good to me,” Jun says.  
  
Toma inclines his head. “I’m glad to hear that.” Jun knows he means it.  
  
“We promised to meet today,” Jun says, shrugging. “But his folks had a surprise visit, so there.”  
  
“So you’re here because you had expectations and now you’re disappointed,” Toma finishes. “Did he promise to introduce you to his folks?”  
  
Jun shakes his head. “They don’t know.”  
  
“Ah,” Toma says. “Shit.”  
  
“Yeah,” Jun agrees.  
  
“Traditional?” Toma asks, because it’s a better word for homophobic.  
  
“Looks like it,” Jun says. It’s the truth. Sho’s never really implied otherwise.  
  
“So you can’t do what you’ve been doing with your past relationships,” Toma concludes. “Must be a massive challenge for you. You’re the type who kisses people at the top of the ferris wheel or behind a bookshelf in the library when nobody’s looking.”  
  
“That was in high school, you can let that go,” Jun says.  
  
“Or the type who holds the other person’s hand while strolling the public park,” Toma says. “Don’t you dare tell me that wasn’t recent. We both know you’re the type who subtly flaunts, Jun. Except you’re not as subtle as you think you are, not with the matching jewelries and matching phone cases.”  
  
Jun can’t even deny that, but to his defense, he is yet to give Sho something matching. “I haven’t given him anything that people can link to me, all right?”  
  
“Not yet, you mean,” Toma says. “If you’re this worried over him, it means you like him so much you’re bound to buy matching rings from France or something. I know you. So he’s closeted and popular and he can never be seen spending time with a host, especially with a male one. I have all of these things correct so far?”  
  
“Yes,” Jun answers begrudgingly.  
  
“And it frustrates you because you can’t do stuff that normal couples do.”  
  
“We don’t really qualify under a normal couple.”  
  
Toma snorts. “You’re not the only gay people in the world. Not being straight is totally normal, and you know this but you’re just feeling trapped at present. And before you say something incredibly stupid, to me, it only makes sense for you to fall for this guy. I know your type. From my quick Google search, he matches every single component in it. So you’re not going to hear anything like, ‘you should stay away while there’s still time,’ or any similar crappy line from me. It’s been so long since I’ve seen you happy.”  
  
“How do you know I’m happy?” Jun asks.  
  
Toma shows him his phone, and Jun sees the very recent photo he and Sho took on his phone. They’re both smiling, a steaming pot of nabe between them. Sho held his phone hence the awkward angle, but there’s no denying Jun’s smile in it.  
  
Jun grabs the phone back, glaring at Toma. “Tell me you didn’t dig through my camera roll.”  
  
“And see your amateur porn for your boyfriend’s eyes only? Please. I have a subscription to a porn site that has everything in HD,” Toma says. “I only saw that picture because I pressed the camera and it was the only preview at the corner. You can breathe.”  
  
Jun stares at the photo once more, noting that it can totally pass off as a night between friends, except Sho’s holding his hand across the table when he took the selfie. It’s the kind of photo that will work as digital evidence if posted, and Jun’s not that stupid to do so, not even if his Instagram is also private.  
  
“You don’t want me to stay away, you said,” Jun says.  
  
“Nope,” Toma says.  
  
“Why not? Most people would say I should, given who he is. The elections are happening in two months. He’ll be busier, and the more attention he gets, the more impossible for us to meet. Isn’t it better if I end things now?”  
  
“You don’t look like you want to end things,” Toma points out.  
  
Jun shrugs. “It doesn’t matter what I want. It’s about what’ll be good for him that does.”  
  
“And I’m saying this as your friend: if you don’t want to, don’t. If you’re happy with this guy, go for it. It’s not every day you find someone you like so much. It just so happens he’s running for public office, but is he really so different from the other guys you’ve been with? You were braver with them.”  
  
“Because being outed won’t exactly mean so much to them,” Jun retorts.  
  
Toma arches an eyebrow. “Being outed won’t make that school fire that coach? Try again. The world’s a shitty place.”  
  
Jun reconsiders and tilts his head in acknowledgement. Maybe Toma has a point. Schools don’t exactly entertain the idea of being queer, and who knows how the administration might have reacted from that time had they found out about Jun and his ex-boyfriend.  
  
“So your advice for me is to grow some balls,” Jun says. “That’s it?”  
  
“Or get yourself a new pair, whichever you prefer,” Toma says. “If this guy isn’t breaking up with you, then he’s worth it. He’s worth it because he knows about the consequences, but he likes you enough that he’s decided to stick around despite seeing how ugly your orgasm face is. That’s a feat in itself and something you should never take for granted.”  
  
Jun punches his arm for the orgasm face comment.  
  
“I know you’re dumb, but try not to be,” Toma says. “Don’t overthink this. If you’re happy, then you’re happy. Fuck everyone who says you can’t be because you’re dating a guy. There’s no logic behind that. But at the same time, look after yourself.”  
  
“I know,” Jun says. “I know what to do in case.”  
  
“Then you’ve got your contingency plan,” Toma tells him. “That should be enough. You can’t prepare for the unexpected; they might never even happen anyway. For now, enjoy your time with his guy, fuck his brains out if you will. No one needs to know despite what you think. Hell, even I didn’t have to know. I would’ve been perfectly fine with not knowing anything if that was what you wanted.”  
  
Toma can be such a jerk, but there’s a reason Jun lets him into his life from time to time. He needs the support, and sometimes Toma’s is enough.  
  
“I told you because I wanted you to know,” Jun says. “Just so it’s out there.”  
  
“I’m honored,” Toma says. “But I meant it. If you’ve felt you’d have rather kept this from me, I won’t mind. We’ve been friends for decades, Jun. You know that Shun and I will be the last persons to judge you even if you decide to date the Prime Minister for his money or assets. We’ll throw in a couple of shitty comments, sure, but they’re all in good fun.”  
  
“Yeah,” Jun agrees, imagining it. “Bunch of assholes, you guys are.”  
  
“Don’t end it,” Toma says seriously. “You’re stupid so I know you have to hear this: no matter what noble reason you think you have for ending it, it’s not worth it if you’re just going to be both miserable by the end. If he’s busy, then he’s busy. But when he isn’t, spend time with him. You don’t owe anyone anything, not even an explanation. If his family has expressed their disagreement over their son’s inclinations, does it really matter when he’s with you anyway?”  
  
“No,” Jun says. “It really fucking doesn’t.”  
  
Toma spreads his palms for effect. “Then go home and wait for this guy’s call. Or send him a message, reschedule your plans for today. You’ll always find time for one another if you meet him in the middle.”  
  
Jun looks at Toma, and he knows it’s only his pride that prevents him from going sappy and saying something like thank you or hugging the man. This is the same guy who deleted all his game data out of jealousy, and even after all these years, Jun is yet to forgive him.  
  
But he’s a good friend, and Jun’s glad to have him.  
  
“You’re still a shitty friend,” he says in the end, and Toma simply laughs.  
  
“As if you’d have me any other way,” Toma retorts.  
  
As if, Jun thinks. Toma will always be that petulant moron who held grudges and fucked everything up, but right now, he’s perfectly fine the way he is.  
  
“So,” Toma says when the silence has lingered long enough.  
  
“So,” Jun echoes, deadpan.  
  
“Can I meet—?”  
  
Jun doesn’t let him finish. “No.”  
  
Toma laughs.  
  
\--  
  
Jun doesn’t buy matching rings, but he can just imagine Toma rolling his eyes and clutching at his sides from laughing too much when he makes the purchase.  
  
Toma’s not here now, but Jun’s image of him is so vivid that he almost chickens out and cancels the order, but he doesn’t. He doesn’t because he wants Sho to know how much everything means to him because he’s not adept at articulating his emotions.  
  
He hands it over as casually as he could, across the table while Sho has his cheeks stuffed and is happily gushing about the pasta Jun made for him.  
  
Sho blinks in question, his expression curious. He swallows before he attempts to open his mouth, and it should be unattractive but Jun only finds it strangely endearing.  
  
“For me?”  
  
Jun rolls his eyes. “For Nino.”  
  
Sho excitedly swipes the little drawstring pouch from his hand, examining it with careful fingers. “What for? There’s no occasion.”  
  
“Do I need an occasion?” Jun asks.  
  
“No,” Sho answers. He beams like a child receiving his Christmas present. “Can I open it?”  
  
Jun gives a nonchalant shrug, hiding half of his face behind his glass of wine. He casts a wary glance in Sho’s direction, his stomach in knots.  
  
He and Sho haven’t really talked about jewelry. Sho calls his choices tacky and too stylish, but Jun didn’t buy something in those lines. At least, he doesn’t think he did.  
  
He watches as Sho unfolds the bracelet, wrapped in black tissue paper and glinting under the light. Jun has a similar one—the only difference is the position of the stud. Jun’s is on the far right, while the one he gave to Sho is on the far left. Other than that, it basically qualifies under couple jewelry, and it’s the kind that Jun’s friends will tease him mercilessly for because they’re jerks.  
  
Sho doesn’t utter a word, but he slips the bracelet around his wrist like it’s not a newly acquired accessory but something that belongs there. It attracts attention around his slim wrist because Jun’s never seen him wear casual jewelry before, and Jun wonders who else will notice.  
  
A look on Sho’s face tells him that Sho’s not concerned. Let them, he might even say if Jun voices it out. Let them see.  
  
Jun clears his throat. “Not too tacky for your tastes?”  
  
“I like it,” Sho says simply, honestly. Three words that inevitably tug at Jun’s heart. “I wish I thought of it first.”  
  
“No way,” Jun says, taking a sip of his wine. It’s unbelievably good tonight. “You can’t possibly buy anything I might like.”  
  
Sho’s face falls, and Jun laughs. “I’m kidding,” Jun says. “But really, there’s such a thing as too much jewelry. Don’t buy anything for me.”  
  
“Why not?”  
  
“Because it’s unoriginal,” Jun says, grinning when Sho makes a face. “To my knowledge, I’ve never dated someone with no imagination.”  
  
“You make things unnecessarily difficult,” Sho says, but he’s chuckling. “All right, no jewelry. Anything else is fair game?”  
  
“Surprise me,” Jun says.  
  
Sho gives him a look. “You hate surprises.”  
  
“Well, depends on what kind it is,” Jun explains. “If you plan a party and invite all my friends without my knowledge, I’m going to hate that. But if you buy something for me, I won’t mind it.”  
  
“But it still depends on what kind of gift it is,” Sho says.  
  
Jun nods, laughing when Sho groans.  
  
He gestures to Sho’s newly adorned wrist with a twitch of his lips. “Not too snug?”  
  
“It’s perfect,” Sho says, and Jun contents himself with that, though his own wrist with the same bracelet on seems to feel warmer.  
  
That night, it’s the hand with the bracelet on that entwines against Jun’s own when they move together and the friction turns too much that they both need something to hold on to. It’s Sho’s hand with the bracelet on that holds Jun’s face when he goes for a sweet kiss that Jun never tires of. It’s the hand with the bracelet on that traces idle patterns across Jun’s chest after, when the both of them are attempting to catch their breaths.  
  
“There are so many things I want,” Sho says in the dark, breath ghosting against Jun’s flesh.  
  
Jun indulges him, brain still euphoric after his orgasm. “Like?”  
  
“You attending one of my events,” Sho whispers, like it’s something forbidden. “You seeing the rest of Gunma with me. The two of us travelling together, maybe.”  
  
“To Germany?” Jun asks, recalling that one promise Sho uttered jokingly.  
  
“Yes,” Sho says, burying his face against the junction between Jun’s face and neck. “Or anywhere, really. It can be just an onsen somewhere in Hakone as long as we don’t have to hide.” His next words are too soft. “I’m tired of hiding.”  
  
Jun offers comfort through touch, fingers dancing over Sho’s arm. “I always try to tell myself that I’m good with what we have. That this is enough.”  
  
“It is,” Sho says. “It is, but…”  
  
Jun shuts his eyes. “We both want more.”  
  
Sho’s grip around his waist tightens. “I’m sorry. I know this is all on me. That it’s on me why we can’t. And I keep talking about these selfish things despite promising that I won’t entertain them.”  
  
Jun shuffles to take a proper look at him. “Do you blame yourself why we can’t?”  
  
“I know it’s my fault,” Sho says. “There’s no denying that. If I’m not who I am, we won’t have to keep meeting like this. Don’t you regret starting this with me? With anyone else, you’d be freer, happier, maybe.”  
  
Jun shoves him, irritation flaring up in him. “Do you hear yourself? Since when did you become like this?”  
  
“You think I don’t notice, but I do,” Sho continues. “When we can’t meet because I’m needed somewhere else, you always tell me it’s all right, that we can always reschedule. You went all the way to Gunma to celebrate an achievement that only served to make things difficult for us and acted like it’s nothing. Whenever I tell you I have to go back early for a meeting or a luncheon, you never protest. Do you think I don’t see how hard it is for you? How hard you’re pushing yourself?”  
  
“And?” Jun asks. “What’s wrong with that? I’m trying to meet you halfway here. I’m trying to make this work even if it looks like it won’t.”  
  
“You try so hard,” Sho says, and Jun blinks, drawing back a little.  
  
“What’s wrong with me trying so hard?” He’s getting sudden flashbacks to that time of endless rejections, of acting jobs he never won because he’d tried too hard and none of it had been enough.  
  
Suddenly, it’s difficult for Jun to breathe, air trapped in his lungs. Suddenly it’s suffocating, and he tries to break free from Sho’s hold, wanting to protect himself because he’s afraid of what Sho might say.  
  
In his experience, he’s never received a good answer to that question. It’s always how he’s still inadequate despite his efforts, how no amount of trying will make him measure up to what they want. And it’s terrifying now that Sho might utter those words because he’s not content, unhappy, and unsatisfied.  
  
Jun sits up on the bed and gives Sho his back, and he feels Sho follow, fingers on his cheek and coaxing him gently.  
  
“Jun,” Sho says, applying pressure when Jun doesn’t look. “Jun, look at me.”  
  
“It’s not enough?” Jun asks quietly, bottom lip trembling. He can’t look; he’s afraid of what he might see. “If you’re going to say that, tell me now.”  
  
“No,” Sho says, and Jun shuts his eyes. He feels Sho press closer but it doesn’t lessen the ache. “Jun, look at me.”  
  
“I can’t,” Jun admits. He’s so scared. He’s been with Sho for a while but this is the first time since they got together that he’s feeling thrown out of the loop, his footing lost.  
  
“You try so hard and there’s nothing wrong with that,” Sho says. “Nothing. If there’s a flaw, it’s on me. Because you’re always there, trying to make things work for us even if the odds aren’t in our favor, and sometimes I feel like I don’t deserve it. Because even if I make things harder for you, you find a way for us to work. You make it seem easy when it’s not, and when you think I don’t see, I actually do.”  
  
Jun tries to process his words, but he can’t reach a conclusion no matter how much he dissects Sho’s confession. “I don’t really understand what you’re getting at here.”  
  
Sho’s laugh is muffled against his shoulder, a warm puff of breath that grips at Jun’s heart. “Let me handle things next time. Let me make ends meet. Allow me to do the same for you. You’ve already done so much.”  
  
“I can’t ask you to do anything that can ruin whatever you worked hard for,” Jun tells him. “You know I can’t.”  
  
“And I know you won’t,” Sho says, hooking his chin on Jun’s shoulder. “But let me spoil you a little. Let me go the extra mile. It can’t be one-sided all the time. You’ve done so much for me, you’ve made me so happy. Let me return the favor next time.”  
  
“Don’t force yourself,” Jun tells him. “I don’t need much, Sho-san. I just need to see you every now and then and I’m good with that.”  
  
“Or you try to be,” Sho says. “I know. But that doesn’t mean you have to content yourself with that. You can ask me for things; I’ve told you that. You never ask me to stay longer than I should each time I’m here.”  
  
“Because you have work,” Jun reasons.  
  
“Work that I can reschedule and postpone,” Sho points out.  
  
“Well, I didn’t know you can do that,” Jun says.  
  
Sho sighs. “My point is, I want you to be a little more selfish. I want you to want things, to want more things and to tell me about them if you think I can make them happen. You don’t have to do everything by yourself, not when I’m here and I can do things for you as well.”  
  
Jun purses his lips in thought, weighing in Sho’s offer. He’s careful enough to not sound too hopeful when he says, “Stay until the afternoon.”  
  
Sho doesn’t respond, his grip around Jun’s form loosening before he moves away. Jun watches him pick up his phone and make a call in the middle of the night and he waits anxiously.  
  
“Hello?” Sho says against the device pressed close to his cheek. “Yes, Fuma. I understand that it’s very late and I’m very sorry to have woken you up.” Sho doesn’t look at him when he adds, “I called to say that I can’t make it to the luncheon with the people from the local newspaper. If they’re amenable for a reschedule, pencil it some other time. Yes. Thank you. I appreciate your help. I’m so sorry for calling at this time.”  
  
“You didn’t even give them a reason,” Jun says when Sho ends the call.  
  
Sho doesn’t look bothered. “I have more important matters to attend to while I’m in Tokyo, I’m sure you know.”  
  
Jun tries not to look too happy when he hears that, but he doesn’t hold himself back from kissing that self-satisfied smirk off Sho’s face as soon as he put his phone down.  
  
It’s still a lot of work to be with him, but Jun thinks he’s worth it every time.  
  
\--  
  
“You seem distracted.”  
  
Jun refocuses, his gaze meeting his client’s. Ryoko-san, a gorgeous woman in her early forties. She’s been part of Jun’s clientele for years, never choosing another despite knowing the extent of what Jun can offer.  
  
“I like the shade of your dress tonight,” is what Jun says instead. She’s in a dazzling green dress, flowing and regal on her but would look simple and inadequate in others.  
  
“I’ve heard that before,” Ryoko tells him. Her smile draws Jun’s attention to her lips. “Did something good happen to you, Jun-kun?”  
  
While most clients want his attention because they interpret it as a semblance of affection, Ryoko is one of those few who spends their time (and money) on Jun just for company. She doesn’t want flattery or admiration. Sometimes, she’s simply here to listen to Jun, offer a bit of an input. Jun likes being with her because he doesn’t have to force himself to enjoy his time with her.  
  
With her, there’s hardly any illusion to sell.  
  
Jun hums in reply, smile hidden behind his flute of champagne. Another thing Jun likes about Ryoko is that she’s generous with her money. Jun supposes his hourly rate is nothing for a renowned surgeon. “Something like that.”  
  
“A secret?” Ryoko asks, her eyes wide with excitement. In many ways, she’s like a child when Jun divulges something to her. She looks around for show, scooting closer. “Tell me.”  
  
Jun lights her cigarette before he talks. “It’s been going well lately.”  
  
He waits until she understands, until Ryoko’s face lights up and she laughs, swatting at his arm. “I knew it. Even a top host like you would have something like a normal life.” She laughs again, like she’s utterly delighted. “Tell me more about this person.”  
  
Jun thinks about Sho, his last message of a stolen photo of Jun while Jun’s asleep with his mouth open. Sho sent it with a string of hearts and kissy face emojis for a caption, and while Jun found it dumb, it was a very Sho thing to do.  
  
“Unfashionable,” Jun says, snickering under his breath. “Snores. Can’t cook a decent egg. Can’t draw something I won’t laugh at.”  
  
He looks over and sees Ryoko sporting a kind smile for him, her head tilted to the side. There’s a knowing glint in her eyes when their gazes meet.  
  
“Sounds like a wonderful person, Jun-kun,” Ryoko says, and it’s another thing Jun loves about her: she knows how to read him. “Have they ever visited you in the club?”  
  
Jun thumbs at his nose, recalling. It feels like a memory of a long time ago. He nods.  
  
“So they know they’re with the undisputed number one?” Ryoko asks, laughing. She flicks one of her long fingers against Jun’s cheek and grins. “It’s good to see you happy.”  
  
Jun gives her an unamused look, trying his best to look unconvinced. With her, it’s hard to tell when she’s serious or not. One minute she’s indulging him, the next she’s thinking of ways to throw him off.  
  
“I’ll be happier if you buy me another round,” Jun says.  
  
Ryoko laughs, spirited and loud. “You know me, Jun-kun, I hate to see you sad.” She gestures to the nearest server who nods. “To show my sincerity, I’ll drink to your good relationship.”  
  
Jun watches her down her drink in one go, still an admirable feat despite him seeing her do it countless times. “Show-off.”  
  
“As if you’ll lose to me, MJ,” she says, laughing. She calls him as such when she feels like challenging him, and he always takes the bait even if the odds are somewhat against him. He once lost to her in a tablecloth pulling contest, and she never forgot.  
  
Jun wordlessly takes her challenge, finishing his flute of champagne in one go, just in time for the next round of drinks to arrive.  
  
\--  
  
The night concludes with Jun feeling a little lightheaded thanks to Ryoko’s strong orders, but he doesn’t expect the sudden focus of spotlight on him before the doors of Akatsuki officially close for the night.  
  
He raises a hand, momentarily blinded by the shine. He blinks the effect of alcohol away to no avail, just as Aiba steps forward to present him with a bouquet of sunflowers.  
  
“It’s your anniversary,” Aiba says when Jun only blinks at him owlishly. “How can you forget?”  
  
It’s only a huge thing because he’s been number one since they started celebrating his entrance into the hosting business. With anyone else, it hardly matters. But he remains as Ohno’s biggest earner, and that means Ohno and Aiba get to decide what to celebrate in honor of him.  
  
“I only remembered now,” Jun confesses. There’s a pop of a champagne bottle opening followed by loud cheers, and Jun shakes his head when he sees a platter of cake being brought in by Ohno himself, who took the time to wear a pinstriped suit for tonight.  
  
Nino throws an arm around him, kissing his cheek. “Thirteen years and you still put our poor kouhais to the dust. Please retire after this.”  
  
“You wish,” Jun says, just as Ohno presents the cake to him. _To our one and only MJ: happy anniversary!_ it says in cursive font. Jun has no doubts Ohno chose a cake that he and Aiba can enjoy; they have such a preference for sweets that they try to find any excuse they can to partake.  
  
“Thanks, Leader,” he says anyway, giving Ohno and Aiba the go signal to partake. Jun watches them carry off the cake to a corner, then he stops, zeroes in on that person watching from the sidelines.  
  
He feels Nino squeeze his shoulder. “Leader invited him. Don’t be angry now. I’m sure he wants to be here.”  
  
Leaning against the post and half-hidden by shadows is Sho in a jacket that looks too similar to the one Jun has, and Jun wonders for how long has he been there. Sho never breathed a word about it, and Jun hardly expected to see him nowadays unless it was planned, not with the elections coming up in two weeks.  
  
“If he asks, tell him it was a friendly kiss on a cheek and I’ll gladly give him one if he wants,” Nino says with a wink.  
  
He and Sho share a look and Jun watches him go, towards the direction of a private room. He excuses himself from Nino who offers to take the bouquet, and Jun deposits it on his waiting arms before following Sho.  
  
Inside, Sho looks like he’s already anticipating what Jun might say. He’s not seated, instead has his back resting against the nearest wall with arms crossed over his chest. He still has that ridiculous baseball cap on, the brim hiding most of his smile when Jun tries to take a proper look at his face.  
  
“Why are you here?” Jun asks.  
  
“I know you hate surprises,” Sho says, still beaming.  
  
“If you know then why are you here? It’s not that I’m not happy to see you, but how did you even find the time to come here with all the planning that you have to do?”  
  
Sho shrugs. “Satoshi-kun said it’s your anniversary in the club. I knew I couldn’t miss that.”  
  
Jun stares. “Satoshi-kun?” he repeats.  
  
“We talk,” Sho says by way of an explanation.  
  
Not as occasional as Jun had initially imagined. “Since when? About what? How?”  
  
“Mostly about you,” Sho says. “And no, I don’t contact your boss to gather intel about you or to know what you do when you’re at work. He’s been trying to recruit me into his fishing club.”  
  
This is all news to Jun, and all he can do at present is look at Sho incredulously. “Don’t tell me you’ve gone to fishing trips already.”  
  
“Not yet,” Sho says with a boyish grin. “Soon, maybe. After the elections.”  
  
Sho walks past him, and when Jun follows him, he sees a massive package in silver wrapping paper leaning against the corner. He watches as Sho picks it up, handing it to him with a hopeful smile.  
  
It’s a frame. There’s no mistaking that, not with those dimensions. But what it holds is the mystery at present, and Jun frowns.  
  
“Happy anniversary,” Sho says. “This is all I can get in such a short notice.”  
  
“Bullshit,” Jun says, unconvinced. “A portrait of something you like can’t be bought at a short notice.”  
  
Sho scrunches his nose. “Well, maybe I’ve been planning to give this to you but only found an appropriate reason now. Whatever. Happy anniversary, I said.”  
  
“Thank you,” Jun says, taking the wrapped frame from him. “If this is a Hokusai, I can’t promise I won’t sell it.”  
  
“You’re never getting a Hokusai from me,” Sho says with a laugh. “You can open it.”  
  
Jun doesn’t, at least not all the way. He only lifts the wrapping a little, just enough to take a peek, and he can’t help the sharp inhale of surprise once he realizes what it is.  
  
It’s a Sugimoto seascape. A perfect counterpart of what Sho has in his home.  
  
He looks up quickly and finds Sho’s eyes on him, gauging his expression.  
  
“Do you like it?” Sho asks. “It might be a little bigger than what you have in mind for a present, but you said to surprise you, and this is the only thing I can think of that I know you’ll like so I went for it.”  
  
It’s late and Jun’s slightly inebriated, some of his inhibitions lost after hours of drinking. He doesn’t restrain himself when he steps close for a quick kiss, pressed against the corner of Sho’s plump lips. It’s his way of saying thanks, both for the present and Sho being here.  
  
“Cameras,” Sho mumbles when Jun pulls back. He’s blushing underneath that cap and Jun doesn’t need to see to be able to tell.  
  
Jun grins, his bravado undoubtedly fueled by alcohol. “It’ll just be Aiba-chan watching the roll for the night before he deletes it.”  
  
“I take it you like it?” Sho asks, gesturing to the frame in Jun’s hands.  
  
“Be there when I hang it on my wall,” Jun says.  
  
Sho licks his lips, looking at his feet. “I shouldn’t.”  
  
“But do you want to?” Jun asks.  
  
This time, Sho only takes a beat to respond. “You know I do.”  
  
“Then come home with me,” Jun says like it’s a forgone conclusion, because perhaps it is. He punctuates his statement with a hand loosely wrapped around Sho’s wrist, thumb stroking the silver bangle he’s wearing. He feels Sho’s pulse spike, his skin warm to touch.  
  
A knock on the door interrupts their moment, and Jun looks over his shoulder to find Nino with a knowing look in his eyes.  
  
“A speech from our number one will be appreciated,” Nino drawls, a passing glance thrown at Jun’s grip around Sho’s wrist since Jun is yet to let him go. “If you retire, you’ll be relieved of your duties since this will fall upon my shoulders.”  
  
“Just for that comment, I’m not retiring,” Jun says. He tugs Sho along, halting in his steps when he feels Sho resist.  
  
Sho shakes his head once and Jun reluctantly loosens his grip. Nino beckons him over with a tilt of his head and Jun follows, though not before telling Sho that he’ll be back soon.  
  
Jun’s not very good with speeches, and his vocabulary steadily deteriorates the drunker he gets. He refuses any offer of drinks with a casual wave of his hand and makes his way forward, silencing all comments with a finger on his lips.  
  
In his periphery, Jun can see Nino shaking his head and grinning.  
  
“It’s my thirteenth year here in Akatsuki,” Jun says, trying not to remember how wild and spirited he was in those days. “Thirteen years and I still think Ohno-san can be mistaken for a janitor.”  
  
He can see Ohno and Aiba laughing together with everyone else, and his gaze eventually moves to the end of the hall where Sho is, bathed in shadows and looking out of place.  
  
Jun thinks he won’t be there for much longer and clears his throat to finish what he has to say. “Thanks for always remembering even when I myself don’t remember. Personally, I’d rather not know how long I’ve been here but if it’s worth celebrating, then that makes me glad.” He raises the bouquet in thanks. “And now I want all of us to go home because I’m not getting younger and I can’t take care of whoever gets drunk in my stead.”  
  
His kouhais cheer simultaneously for reasons he can’t tell, but Jun takes it as his cue to leave the center and to start gathering his stuff. He signals to Sho with a tilt of his head, trying to act as nonchalantly as he could even though Sho’s following him to the rear exit.  
  
On his way out, he passes by Nino who only gives him a knowing look, and a glance at Ohno’s direction tells him that Ohno will deal with the rest. Maybe that’s why Sho took the risk and went here; Ohno had given him assurances about confidentiality and security.  
  
Jun washes off his makeup and dresses down before he heads out, fluttering his fingers in farewell to the bouncer who always works overtime in case they have sudden celebrations like this. He spots Sho’s car in the parking space, Sho already in the driver’s seat, and just to make things a little difficult, Jun knocks on his car window instead of simply climbing inside.  
  
To his credit, Sho diligently rolls down the window and looks at him with questioning eyes.  
  
“Waiting for someone?” Jun asks as casually as he can.  
  
Sho checks his watch. It’s a little over six in the morning, too late for host clubs and too early for other jobs. “The top host of this club, actually. Do you happen to know him?”  
  
Jun grins, licking his lips. “He’d like to know if you don’t have to be anywhere else for today.”  
  
Sho hums in thought, which is just for show because Jun knows Sho’s the type who has his entire schedule memorized. “Depends. Does he have enough toothpaste?”  
  
Jun frowns in confusion just as Sho grins.  
  
“I forgot to include that in my overnight bag,” Sho says, and Jun sneaks a glance towards the backseat, where he undoubtedly finds the familiar duffel bag Sho brings with him whenever he has plans to stay the night.  
  
The thought sinks in and Jun can’t control his expression anymore, his faćade of coolness vanishing. He’s staying. Jun has no idea what Sho did to make time for this but he managed it. For once there’s no luncheon or meeting or interview to go to, nothing that warrants a return to Gunma in the next six or seven hours.  
  
For once, Jun has all of Sho to himself, and he can’t hide how happy he is.  
  
He rounds the car and climbs inside, and he ignores his seatbelt to lean in, a hand resting on Sho’s cheek to guide his face towards him. Jun kisses him to tell him how elated he is that they managed to find time for each other despite the demands of Sho’s job.  
  
When they break apart, Sho’s got this tinge of pink on his cheeks that Jun traces with his thumb. He’s so warm, and the way he smiles is a little shy that it squeezes Jun’s heart.  
  
“Are you really staying?” Jun asks because he still can’t believe it.  
  
“I have the entire day free,” Sho says. “Well, I had to rearrange my schedule itself to have the day off, but it’s done. We can do anything you want.”  
  
Jun can think of so many things to take Sho up on that offer, but a glance over his shoulder tells him where he should start.  
  
He fastens his seatbelt and leans back, smiling.  
  
“Let’s go,” he says, and Sho starts the car. “I want to hang that Sugimoto seascape in my living room.”  
  
\--  
  
The day is out by the time Jun has the frame up on his wall, and he takes a moment to admire it with the sun’s rays reflected against its surface. It’s the complete opposite of the one Sho has, a view of the sea during nighttime, the stars acting as an addition to the backdrop.  
  
“It suits you,” Sho says from his side, and Jun turns to him. “Well, of the two of us, I’m the morning person so I guess you knew what you were talking about when you said that the other version suited me more.”  
  
“Have I ever told you that all the other people I’ve dated before were morning people?” Jun asks. He knows Sho would rather not talk about his past relationships because he gets a little jealous at the mention of other men in Jun’s life, but it’s fun to see him try not to react. “They make up for what I lack, which is enthusiasm when the sun is up. It’s why I have a night job.”  
  
“That’s the only similarity I have with them, right?” Sho asks, uncharacteristically competitive that he makes Jun laugh.  
  
Jun purses his lips in mock-thought. “Yeah, I mean, some of them are not completely hopeless in the kitchen.”  
  
“I can make a good scrambled egg, you know,” Sho brags. “With Spam.”  
  
“Spam and egg is your specialty?” Jun asks, quirking an eyebrow. “Not very impressive.”  
  
Sho beams. “Well, that’s why I have you. You can make anything taste good.”  
  
Jun rolls his eyes, turning away from him. “Don’t push your luck. I’m not cooking breakfast for you.”  
  
Sho treads after him in his soft, fluffy slippers and ugly, threadbare sweatpants. He looks totally at home in Jun’s place, which is how Jun likes it. Gone were the days that Sho looked embarrassed at even using the bathroom; he’s already claimed a mug for himself that also holds his toothbrush.  
  
“We can order in for breakfast,” Sho offers even though Jun’s already in the bathroom and stripping down for a quick soak in the tub. “Clubhouse sandwiches or pancakes or a platter of English breakfast—just say the word.”  
  
Jun has the water running and is testing the temperature when he looks up. He ignores how Sho’s eyes rake over his nakedness; he wants his bath and Sho would have to wait. “How very Western of you, Sho-san.”  
  
“Tamagoyaki? With miso soup?” Sho tries. “I know which restaurants to call.” He fishes for his phone inside the pocket of his sweatpants and perches himself on the edge of the tub, just as Jun enters it and has half of his body submerged in lukewarm water.  
  
Jun runs his wet fingers through his hair and combs it back before getting to a more comfortable position, one that has his nape resting against the edge of the tub. When he opens his eyes, he catches Sho staring.  
  
Sho swallows before he speaks, which makes Jun smile. “Onigiri? Omurice? Tonkatsu?”  
  
“Pass me the soap,” is what Jun says instead.  
  
Sho does, retrieving the bottle and placing it on Jun’s waiting hand, and he sits there watching as Jun lathers a generous amount on his arms and shoulders. He scoops water in his hands and starts scrubbing, all too aware of the pair of eyes observing him.  
  
“How about salmon?” Sho asks, and Jun likes the way his voice has changed, growing deeper the longer he sits there doing nothing.  
  
Soap bubbles have accumulated in the tub the longer Jun washes without rinsing. He soon gets to his neck and up to his ears, and it’s then that Sho speaks again.  
  
“Natto?” he asks quietly, almost breathlessly.  
  
“Come into the tub,” Jun says, rearranging his position to make room for Sho.  
  
Sho hesitates for a few seconds, but he soon disrobes, leaving his phone on top of his clothes as he climbs in. He makes a small comment about the water not being warm enough but he settles in anyway, right across Jun and within reach.  
  
Exactly how Jun wants him.  
  
There’s foam clinging on the tips of Jun’s fingers when he reaches out, skims them across Sho’s shoulder, at the sharp angle it creates as it tapers downward. He moves upward, playing with Sho’s hair on his nape and tugging him closer, and his next breath is taken against Sho’s lips.  
  
“Tempura,” he whispers, enjoying the way Sho blinks in question. “I’ll have the entire set.”  
  
Sho laughs against his lips, lines surrounding his eyes that render Jun unable to resist. He kisses Sho’s cheek lightly but repeatedly, moving to whisper in his ear, “And umeboshi if they have it.”  
  
“They do,” Sho breathes huskily, and when he tilts his face to find Jun’s mouth, Jun’s ready for him.  
  
\--  
  
It’s Sho who picks the movie for the night while Jun handles the food, just one of his go-to pasta dishes and nothing extravagant, except he does bring out one of his best wines while they eat in front of the TV.  
  
Sho’s a big eater, and the way his face bloats up with all the food he is yet to swallow is kind of cute, though Jun needs more alcohol in his system to admit it out loud. All Jun does is look away with a smile, trying to focus on the movie instead.  
  
“You know,” Sho begins, and Jun feels him pinch a part of his shirt and play with it between his fingers, “I have the exact same shirt.”  
  
Jun turns to look at him, frowning. “You’re not serious.”  
  
Sho grins, still playing with the material of Jun’s shirt. It’s one of Jun’s favorites too, one of the rare gifts from Shun that he actually liked. “We should wear it together someday.”  
  
Jun pushes his hand away. “You go ahead and wear yours; I’m changing.”  
  
He moves to leave, but Sho tugs him back with a laugh.  
  
“You’re not into couple looks?” Sho asks.  
  
Jun shrugs. “Not really my thing.”  
  
Sho gives him a disbelieving look, so cocky and annoying. “Really.” He then lifts his wrist and Jun’s eyes gravitate to the silver bangle there, the one Jun likes seeing on him. He’s noticed that Sho never removes it, not even when he gets photographed by journalism sites. Jun’s seen it on him since he’d given it, always present in Sho’s recent online photos.  
  
It’s like Sho’s telling everyone without explicitly saying it.  
  
“That’s an exception,” Jun says, which is a poor excuse because it makes Sho laugh.  
  
“You’re so cute,” Sho says, and Jun resolves to not speak to him, at least for the next few minutes. He’s aware that he’s blushing, the tips of his ears now warm. “Someday I’ll get us to wear matching clothes. You’ll see.”  
  
“Why do you want us to match that much?” Jun asks. “Don’t you think that’s a little gross, that two old men are wearing the same clothes?”  
  
Sho looks puzzled. “Why would it be when we’re dating?”  
  
“We’re too old for couple outfits,” Jun says.  
  
“Says you,” Sho retorts. “I’m going to make that happen someday: _the_ Matsumoto Jun wearing the same clothes as Sakurai Sho. Unbelievable, but true. Imagine that.”  
  
Jun shudders. “I’m never wearing faux denim or gray parkas on top of one another so you can stop dreaming.”  
  
“Ah but that’s why I’m willing to adjust,” Sho says, smiling. He’s got leftover pasta sauce on the corner of his lips, and Jun itches to wipe it away with his thumb. “You don’t have to do anything.”  
  
From the looks of Sho’s face, it seems that nothing can deter him now that he’s set his goal. Jun admires that about him: the dedication and the enthusiasm—they’re kind of infectious in their own ways. Jun thinks he hasn’t met anyone as determined as Sho once he’s decided on something, and it’s one of those Sho things that make Jun fall harder for him.  
  
He tries not to think about how days like this together are numbered, but he can’t help himself. Looking at Sho only reminds him of it, and when it becomes too much, he has to turn his gaze elsewhere lest he voices it out.  
  
Except Sho notices. Of course. He’s that attuned when Jun wishes for him not to, and because Sho is the kind of partner who wants to talk about things despite Jun’s obvious reluctance, he pushes.  
  
“Did I say something wrong?” Sho asks with concern, his plate of pasta forgotten on his lap.  
  
Jun settles for just shaking his head and taking a sip of his wine, turning his attention to the movie despite not understanding most of what’s going on. He’s missed a good portion of the plot already.  
  
“Jun,” Sho says, coaxing and gentle, the kind of tone he uses when he’s choosing to be patient instead of forcibly prodding until Jun lets his walls down. “Tell me.”  
  
“Don’t win,” is not what Jun planned to say, but his mouth did the thinking for him and now it’s out there, hanging in the sudden stillness between them. He can’t take it back, can’t laugh it off as being carried away or being drunk.  
  
The silence lingers, haunting and taunting Jun at the same time, leaving his nerves on edge.  
  
Sho looks away, eyes on the TV. When he speaks, the playfulness in his tone from earlier is gone. “When I’m alone, I often think that I should’ve made a different choice.”  
  
Jun licks his lips nervously, heartbeat thumping against his ears. He thinks it’s the same for Sho at present.  
  
“That I shouldn’t have listened to what they were telling me to do. That maybe I should’ve given more thought to what I wanted instead of what was wanted from me. That maybe I shouldn’t have filed for candidacy,” Sho continues. “When we first met, I was in the final stages of making that decision. I can’t tell you how many times I wavered at the thought of having my secretary forward those papers to the Commission.”  
  
“Why did you do it?” Jun asks. “Why did you file for it anyway?” The possible answers scared him but he’s always wanted to know.  
  
“I thought I was simply being swayed by a pretty face and couldn’t afford that,” Sho says, straightening his back when Jun visibly reacts. “Jun, I had no idea at the time.”  
  
“And were you?” Jun asks anyway, despite finding it difficult to look at Sho right now. “Were you simply swayed?”  
  
“You know I wasn’t,” Sho says. “If I were, I could’ve put an end to this. I could’ve wanted to end this.”  
  
“One of the things I really dislike since we’ve started this,” Jun admits, “is that in all the times we’ve managed to make time for one another, it never really felt like you were here. That there’s always something holding you back, something that keeps us from meeting halfway despite our efforts. And no matter how selfish I become, no matter how much I try to have you for myself, it never felt like I had all of you.” He sighs. “It’s always like I have to share. Or worse, like I’m the one intruding and you’re really part of something else that has no use for someone like me.”  
  
No matter how much I try to belong, he doesn’t say, because he can’t have Sho hear those words. They’re too close to what he tries to hide.  
  
“It’s why I don’t want you to win,” he confesses. “If you win, you’re theirs. It means they’ve won. And I know it sounds stupid since there’s really no competition between your priorities, but that’s how it feels.” And Jun hates himself for feeling this way; he’s too old to become this attached to someone. He always thought it’d be impossible for him to like someone so much to the point the attraction itself frustrates him, but that’s how it is. Sho has always defied expectations.  
  
The unspoken lies between them: harsh and scathing. If Sho wins, they have to end this. He’ll have no time for any of this, for movies that hardly make sense and indulgent sleepovers. He’ll be another memory of Jun, a bittersweet reminder of something Jun wanted but never had enough of.  
  
When it becomes clear that Sho won’t utter a word, Jun clears his throat. “I’ll go and wash those,” he says, picking up their used plates and wine glasses. He absentmindedly takes them to the dishwasher, hoping that the running water will also wash away his intrusive, ugly thoughts.  
  
He’s got everything rearranged in his cupboard when he feels Sho come up behind him, a hand resting tentatively on his shoulder.  
  
Jun turns, finding a Sho that’s not on any of the news sites or the occasional interview clips. He looks conflicted and uncertain, his eyes downcast and sad. He seems older this way, like he’s finally faced the truth they’ve both been running from for so long.  
  
If Sho asks, Jun thinks he’ll say yes. He’ll agree to end it, to cut ties with Sho from here on, only because it’s what will keep Sho’s image untarnished. Without him, Sho won’t be so torn anymore, instead focus on what he’s been planning for.  
  
What Sho offers in the next moment is the least of Jun’s expectations and is the reason for his newest heartbreak.  
  
“Tell me and I’ll do it.”  
  
It’s freely given, a temptation that a part of Jun wants to accept, but he can’t. He’s selfish, but not to that extent.  
  
He stares at Sho and shakes his head once. “If you make a decision, I don’t want you to do it for me. Or for anyone else. This might be a foreign concept to you, but stop putting other people first. If you decide on something, do it for you.”  
  
Sho appears confused, teeth catching on to his plump bottom lip. “I can’t be that selfish.”  
  
“I know,” Jun acknowledges, and it hurts. “And I wish you’d be.” He places a steadying hand on Sho’s chest, maintaining their distance. He needs it before he offers, “Tell me and it’s done.”  
  
Sho’s eyes widen, and Jun knows he understood. If he says it, it’s over. Jun will disappear from his life as if he was never a part of it, and the threat will disappear. He’s always known that it’s not the election that stands between him and Sho.  
  
It’s him. Without him, Sho can stay focused on his plans for the future, for the people looking up to him and depending on him.  
  
“Don’t say that,” Sho tells him, begs him. Jun can hear it in his voice. “Don’t offer that to me like it’s the only option that we have. Don’t leave it up to me.”  
  
“It’s always been up to you,” Jun says, because it’s true. “At your word, I’ll disappear. If what you truly wanted is to stay on track, to make a change like you promised them, then I’ll let you. I’ll step aside.”  
  
“I don’t want you to step aside,” Sho says with an edge to his voice.  
  
“We can’t be this self-indulgent and selfish all the time,” Jun points out. “Not when you have responsibilities.”  
  
“And what about what I want?” Sho asks. “You’re so adamant on wanting to make things happen for me because you think that’s what will be good for me. But what about what I want?”  
  
“What do _you_ want?” Jun asks. It’s what’s been bugging him all this time—despite Sho’s declarations before, Jun never really knew what he wanted.  
  
“I’ve told you,” Sho says, and his voice cracks when he adds, “I don’t want to win. If I win, it won’t feel like that at all.”  
  
It aches to look at him, so lost and unsure. He stands in the middle of Jun’s kitchen not as Sakurai Sho, the charismatic, young candidate from Gunma but as the Sho that only Jun is privy to. Something twinges inside Jun’s chest, almost stabbing at how raw it is.  
  
“If I win, I’ll lose everything,” Sho says. “I often think of that and it’s scary. If I win, I’ll lose you. I’ll lose any chance of having something I want, something that makes me truly happy and lets me be myself. Do you understand? I know it’s selfish to be with you. To still want to be with you despite everything. But I can’t help it. I can’t stop. It’s too late.”  
  
“But you are going to win,” Jun says sadly, truthfully. “You know it yourself. We both do. You’ve seen the predictions, the preliminary polls. Even if you don’t want to, you will.” With only two weeks left, Jun knows there’s no other time. “We both know it.”  
  
He initiates, leaning forward to kiss Sho’s mouth. It’s light, chaste, and perhaps imperceptible, but it’s all Jun allows himself for now. It acts as his anchor, as a reminder that they can’t keep doing this, that this is as far as Jun can let things happen.  
  
“Are you saying goodbye?” Sho asks, hollow and open.  
  
Jun’s always known it has to end someday, and while they both seem unprepared and reluctant for it, someone has to have that initiative. Someone has to make the hard decision and push the other away, and because Jun can’t bear the thought of it being done to him, he takes it upon himself.  
  
He’s been pushed away so many times already.  
  
“This can be our last night,” Jun offers sincerely. He cups Sho’s face in one hand and tries to smile despite his chest constricting. “Just for one last time.”  
  
He can taste salt when they kiss and he has no idea if it’s him or Sho who’s unable to keep their emotions at bay, but the soft, tender way that their lips meet soon turns desperate. His hands are on the back of Sho’s head, holding him in place, and each kiss is a substitute for words they can never articulate.  
  
How Sho utters his name sounds unsteady and broken, and Jun kisses him in an attempt to silence him. Every breath he takes against Sho’s mouth adds to the tightness in his chest, and Jun wishes for time to move slower so he’ll have enough.  
  
After this, Sho will return to Gunma and stay there, dedicate his life to public service. After this, Jun will resume his life as a host, perhaps retire in a year or two and look for work someplace else.  
  
He doesn’t know. All Jun knows right now is that it aches inside, it hurts that he’s able to touch someone who’s never meant to be truly his, that their only time in a long time is now used for saying goodbye.  
  
“Jun,” Sho whispers. “I—”  
  
Jun bites Sho’s lip to prevent him from speaking. “Don’t say it,” he begs. “Don’t tell me.”  
  
If he hears it, he might do something stupid and ask Sho to stay. His resolve is close to breaking.  
  
The way they collide this time is frantic and less coordinated, but the rhythm is familiar and the heat that builds up is just as intense. On Jun’s bed with Jun’s back on the sheets, he arches to meet Sho halfway, nails embedded in Sho’s arms.  
  
His emotions bubble on the surface, threatening to betray him and reveal how vulnerable he is. Something sears inside his ribcage with each frenzied movement, and Jun instead focuses on their uneven breaths, the sounds they’re creating together as they try to make this moment last despite knowing it won’t.  
  
Something like this—wanted and secret and theirs alone—has always been meant for an abrupt ending. Jun’s decision to do it himself is his way of regaining control of something that’s gotten out of hand but can’t continue lest it festers and swallows them both.  
  
Sho’s fingers find his jaw, grasping until Jun opens his eyes for their gazes to meet. It’s the look on Sho’s face that wrenches the truth out of Jun, his walls down and core exposed, defenseless.  
  
“I love you,” he whispers, ending in a hitched groan as Sho hits something that sets his nerves alight. It’s the only time he’ll let the words be heard. For a moment, it’s blissful and blinding, the world disappearing around him.  
  
When he comes to, Sho’s hot mouth is against his neck, his breaths rushed as he moves. He’s whispering words that vibrate against Jun’s flesh, against the thundering beat of his raging pulse.  
  
“I’m sorry,” Sho is saying repeatedly, honestly, and Jun wants to say he feels the same but doesn’t. He listens until it makes sense, until the words sink in and he has no other choice.  
  
Jun shuts his eyes in painful acceptance when he hears what he has to—what they both need to—out of Sho’s mouth.  
  
“Goodbye.”  
  
Jun clings just as Sho tumbles over the edge, his heart in pieces. He thinks this moment will resonate in him even after years, as a fragile fragment of a wanted thing.  
  
In the ensuing silence interspersed with them catching their breaths, Jun allows his hands to mark the ending and loosens his grip.  
  
He lets Sho go.  
  
\--  
  
He’s in between that state of drifting and completely falling asleep when he feels lips ghosting over the curve of his shoulder, lingering in bony prominences and spreading warmth. When he inhales, he smells Sho.  
  
Sho apologizes by leaving short, sweet kisses as if they’ll last, and Jun keeps his eyes closed as he lets Sho do as he wishes.  
  
“I never really said it,” Sho whispers in the dark, and somehow the syllables come out distorted thanks to Jun’s sleep-addled mind. In the morning, he knows he won’t remember. “Not to anyone. Not even to you.”  
  
“I’m sorry you had to decide for us,” Sho says. “I’m sorry I was never brave enough. I’ve hurt you so much, put you through so much, and still you’re here. Still I can’t seem to let you go.” An arm slips around Jun’s waist, the wrist adorned by a piece of jewelry that seems to burn when it touches Jun’s skin. “I’m sorry.”  
  
Jun knows that the memory he’ll have of this is Sho apologizing for things he has no control of but still is part of his faults. It’s how it is. Jun always ends up remembering the ugly parts of things because he’s always the one left behind.  
  
The one discarded for people to move on with their lives.  
  
He’s glad though, that this time he doesn’t have to feign sleep. It’s there and it’s taking hold, claiming him. Once he settles, his breathing evens out and all his worries seem to slip away.  
  
One kiss to his nape and Jun hears Sho utter the words back, but he begins to drift, lost to visions conjured by a lonely mind. He dreams of himself becoming an actor, of a spotlight focused on him as he takes the stage, of lines delivered perfectly, of a pace that is his to control.  
  
He dreams of applause and of happiness, of adrenaline pumping in his veins and making his blood sing. He dreams of acceptance and freedom, of being at peace with himself.  
  
When he wakes in the morning, Sho is no longer there, not even a phantom of his touch.  
  
It’s as if Jun has dreamt him entirely.  
  
\--  
  
Life resumes as it was pre-Sho, imperfections covered up by foundation and every strand of hair in place as Jun immerses himself completely in his job. In the morning when he gets home, he runs. Sometimes on the treadmill, sometimes across the neighborhood just to exhaust himself and help him forget.  
  
It comes and goes. Sometimes he’s completely drained that the job becomes the only thing he can focus on. Sometimes he hears his thoughts, remembers how the past months were like. How happy he was. Had been. How all of that changed when it became clear he and Sho have reached the end of how far they can run together without being found out.  
  
For a moment, the real world didn’t matter. But that moment never lasted, and now it’s up to Jun to pick up the pieces of himself after he struggled to bare himself open and not hide a thing. Now he’s back to faking it, to an empty life that hardly exists outside the glittering doors of Akatsuki.  
  
If Nino notices, he doesn’t say a word. Jun catches him staring sometimes, and because it’s Nino, Jun knows that he knows. But he doesn’t pry, instead wordlessly offers a glass of water to Jun night after night, to help wash that aftertaste of liquor that threatens to make Jun gag.  
  
When it happens, it’s been more than a week, barely days on the election day itself. It happens on a sunny morning, just after Jun has stepped out of the train platform and is taking his first steps on the way back home.  
  
It happens with his phone vibrating relentlessly in his pocket, and checking it reveals three missed calls from Nino, two from Ohno, five from Aiba, and four from Toma. Another two from Shun. The time differences from each call are what alarms him, and when his phone vibrates once more because of an incoming call from Nino, he picks up.  
  
“What?”  
  
“Where are you?” Nino asks. He was drunk when Jun left him in the hands of Aiba, for Aiba to get him home. He doesn’t sound anything like that now. “Where?”  
  
“Outside the station,” Jun says. “What’s going on?”  
  
“Don’t go back to your apartment,” Nino says. “Listen to me. Get back on the train and head somewhere else. Go to a friend’s and stay there. Or you can come to my place or Leader’s or Aiba-shi’s. Just don’t go back to your place.”  
  
Jun scoffs, resuming his walk. He’s only a few blocks away and he’s sleepy, he wants to rest his head after the number of drinks he managed to sell the night before. “The hell are you talking about?”  
  
“They know,” is all Nino says, and that makes Jun stop, soles screeching against the pavement. “Jun-kun, they know. It’s all over the news sites.”  
  
Time freezes and Jun stands there unmoving, head clearing as he processes Nino’s words. “What?”  
  
He doesn’t give Nino time to respond, instead drops the call and opens his mobile browser. It’s a testament to how often he looks Sho up that typing the first syllable of his surname comes up with his frequent searches, and clicking it makes his heart jump in this throat.  
  
He feels like he’s going to be sick.  
  
**Sakurai Sho, Gunma’s favored candidate, spotted with a male host in Tokyo**  
  
**Exclusive: top candidate with a top host—photos inside**  
  
**Sakurai Sho spotted on a date with a host in Tokyo**  
  
**Sakurai Sho reported to be dating a male host from Tokyo**  
  
Jun’s thumb seems to have a mind of its own when it taps on one of the links, and there are photos. More than what Jun initially expected. They were taken from the parking space near Akatsuki, that time Sho brought his car and gave Jun a ride home. Some of the photos are blurry, undoubtedly zoomed past the capacity of the lenses, but it’s them.  
  
The world seems to disintegrate around him. It’s them. Him and Sho. Those are his hat and scarf, glaring at him.  
  
Bile seems to have risen to the back of his throat and he feels nauseous. There’s a photo of him kissing Sho in the car. There are photos of him leaning against the window of Sho’s car, of him climbing inside the vehicle, of Sho leaving his car and entering his apartment building.  
  
There are photos of Sho leaving his place in the morning, his duffel bag thrown over his shoulder. A proof that he had stayed at Jun’s place for hours.  
  
All of them are incriminating. Jun skims through the article because he can’t help it.  
  
_The two of them were spotted departing the host club at close to seven in the morning, with Sakurai on the driver’s seat of his car. Soon, M-san was seen following him, and they share a quick chat before M-san climbs inside. According to a source, they met in one of Sakurai’s parties sponsored by his supporters._  
  
Jun finds a wall to lean against, feeling like his legs have turned wobbly and are now unable to support him. The characters blur over each other but they’re all implying the same thing.  
  
_The two of them pursued a secret relationship during the height of Sakurai’s popularity in Gunma. A witness reports having seen M-san in a restaurant in Gunma, entering a private room reserved under Sakurai’s name. Another source claims that Sakurai has been visiting the host club regularly but secretly via an internal arrangement with the club owner which involves a lot of money._  
  
No, Jun thinks, shutting his eyes. No, they can’t involve the club. Not his friends and colleagues. Not Ohno or Nino or Aiba.  
  
_A source has told us that M-san agreed to the relationship because of the benefits. Sakurai is a wealthy man from a well-known family while M-san is a top but aging host facing popularity decline. The same source reveals that M-san was the one who started the relationship. “He wanted to ride off Sakurai’s popularity since his is waning. And since Sakurai comes from that family, the expenses of being a host are also covered. Two birds, one stone. That much was obvious. What isn’t clear is why Sakurai agreed at all. Maybe he’s always been this way. It certainly would explain why he remains a bachelor at his age, at the peak of his budding political career.”_  
  
Jun rushes inside the station, heading for the restroom in quick strides. He empties his stomach over the sink, eyes watering and throat hurting. He lets the water wash away the sour aftertaste of liquor from the night before, praying to whoever is listening that everything is just a bad dream. That nobody knew. That Sho’s in Gunma and safe from people who wish to invade his privacy.  
  
His phone vibrates, and his voice is a hoarse, pitiful croak when he picks up without looking at the caller ID. “Hello?”  
  
“You sound like shit,” is what Toma says, followed by a click of his tongue. “Fuck, I’ve been trying to get to you. Shun’s been trying too, even though it’s his kid’s family day at school. Anyway. Where are you?”  
  
“Train,” he says. “I don’t know.”  
  
“Are you riding the train or just somewhere in the platform?” Toma asks. “Talk to me.”  
  
“Platform,” Jun answers, his head spinning. It’s all a bad dream, isn’t it? “Restroom.”  
  
“Stay there,” Toma says, and Jun wants to tell him to fuck off but he can’t. He’s all alone and for the first time in a long time, he’s scared. “I’m coming to get you. Stick around the ticket booth or something, then we’ll go to Shun’s. All right?”  
  
“What about his family day?” Jun asks quietly, unable to put up any more protests. He doesn’t want to impose on a family man, but it sounds like Toma already talked to Shun and they both agreed to this plan.  
  
“Yu-chan can kick your ass someday for it,” Toma says. “But for now, stay right where you are and wait for me. All right? Don’t you dare try to go home.”  
  
Jun finds himself laughing, a mixture of emotions he can’t quite name mixing and making him feel worse. “They’re waiting out there, aren’t they? They found out who I am.”  
  
Toma says nothing on the other line, and it’s enough. It’s the confirmation Jun needs.  
  
“Turn off your mobile data,” Toma says. “Stop looking at those, you hear me? Stop reading them.”  
  
“They said I did it because I wanted his money,” Jun finds himself saying. “What the fuck do they know?”  
  
“Nothing,” Toma answers. “They know nothing about you. And we’d like to keep it that way. I’m two stops away, Jun. Can I trust you not to do anything stupid in the next few minutes? At least until I get there.”  
  
Jun hates being treated like a child, but he hears himself agree with a single hum that brings relief to Toma.  
  
“Toma?” he asks.  
  
“Yeah?”  
  
Jun shuts his eyes and hopes someone will wake him up once this is all over. “Hurry.”  
  
\--  
  
The intervention comes six hours later, after Toma has successfully collected him from the train station and brought him to Shun’s place. The two of them force Jun to sleep and when Jun claimed he can’t, Shun somehow managed to whip out a sleeping pill that worked wonders, heightening Jun’s drowsiness and giving him rest.  
  
When he wakes, Toma’s watching from the corner of the bed. Shun’s perched on the sofa to his right, also watching him.  
  
“Fuck,” is the first thing that comes out of Jun’s mouth, thick with sleep and raw with emotion.  
  
He hears them hum. “Pretty much, yeah,” Shun says.  
  
“Sorry about your family day,” Jun says, glancing at him.  
  
Shun shrugs. “I always knew that in reality, I actually have three children with you being the third and the one who needs looking after. How are you feeling?”  
  
“Like shit,” Jun says, sitting up and cradling his head. “You’ve seen it?”  
  
The two of them nod. “For the record,” Toma says, “they’re incredibly ugly photos of you so you look really old. But it’s you. There’s no mistaking that.”  
  
“And him,” Jun says because none of them will find the courage to. To Shun and Toma’s credit, they’ve been very careful at mentioning Sho’s name, only talking about him when Jun initiates. They always respected the secrecy that came with their best friend dating a would-be politician despite being assholes in Jun’s life.  
  
“From what Nino’s told me,” Toma says, and Jun braces himself for it because he’s not bound to like it, “there are paparazzi outside Akatsuki. Outside your house. It’s a given that they’re also stalking him in Gunma right now. It’s in the local news.”  
  
“That kind of tabloid shit made local news?” Jun asks disbelievingly, and he reaches over the nightstand to grab the remote.  
  
Shun moves so fast that Jun isn’t able to keep up with him—he swipes the remote from Jun’s hand and carries it away with him. “You don’t want to see that.”  
  
“See what? It’s about me,” Jun says, annoyed. “Give that back.”  
  
“No,” Shun says firmly. “My house, my rules, Matsumoto. As you know.”  
  
“Shit,” Jun says, pressing his palms against his eyelids. “You won’t even give me my phone, right? Jerk.”  
  
“Not when you’re like this,” Shun says. “You don’t need to see more than what you have. If you need us to be honest, we’ll tell you ourselves. It’s bad. It’s bad because his side is yet to come up with a response to all the queries after your photos together hit the tabloids and the internet, but the photos are damning. You’ve seen them.”  
  
Jun can still recall how the grainy photo of him kissing Sho served as the header of one article. To have his privacy invaded like that, for people to be watching while they both remained unaware—it flares up the combined rage and guilt inside him.  
  
“Nino told me that the tabloids are pestering Akatsuki for a comment. That Oh-chan has given one, and it goes something like leaving private matters to you and declining to divulge information about anyone who may have visited the establishment,” Toma explains. “But of course it won’t end there.”  
  
“No it won’t,” Jun agrees. With Sho’s identity and presence in Akatsuki revealed, some of their patrons might feel that their confidential habits aren’t well-protected despite Ohno’s reassurances. This will affect the clientele and Jun has no one to blame but himself.  
  
“You talked to him?” Shun asks.  
  
Jun laughs. He can’t help himself. “I haven’t spoken to him since that night.” He looks over and sees Toma and Shun both sporting frowns on their faces. “We broke up that night.”  
  
Toma makes a pained expression just as Shun runs a hand over his face.  
  
“Did I or did I not give a sound advice to you?” Toma asks when he recovers. “And you just ignored that?”  
  
“I couldn’t let us keep doing it, not with the elections coming up,” Jun reasons. “Fuck, the elections.”  
  
It’s a week away. Of course something like this gets revealed when it’ll have the biggest impact on Sho’s favorability, of the public’s image of him. He’s been outed against his wishes, and most of his supporters are conservative people who have close ties with his family.  
  
Jun wishes he can check on Sho now, just to know how he’s doing. He can’t take this.  
  
“So you broke up with the guy because you wanted to save his stint in politics,” Toma says disapprovingly. “Thanks to the internet, your noble sacrifice counted for nothing. Why do you insist on making yourself miserable?”  
  
“I didn’t bring this upon myself intentionally,” Jun protests, glaring at Toma. “I had no idea people were watching us! Watching him!”  
  
“I’m not talking about the photos taken of you without your consent,” Toma says. “I’m talking about you. You’ve turned for the worse lately, and now it’s so bad that it’s definitely going to take much more than an impromptu visit to my place. How come you never ask for help even when you need it?”  
  
“Because I’m old enough to take care of myself despite your beliefs,” Jun snaps. “I can’t always use you or Shun, I can’t always run to any of you if something happens. How old did you think I am? Five?”  
  
“Wow,” Toma says, appalled. “What an ingrate. You—”  
  
“Stop,” Shun says, louder than any of their voices. “Both of you. Just stop. You’re like children. Younger than the ones I have when it comes to mental development.” He pinches the bridge of his nose and lets out a long, suffering sigh. “Toma, there’s food outside. Eat something.”  
  
Toma throws one last disgruntled look in Jun’s direction before he departs the guest room, the door closing with a bang, strong enough that it rattles the doorframe.  
  
Shun takes a seat on the spot beside Jun and gives Jun an unimpressed look. “Toma’s just looking out for you.”  
  
Jun actually knows that. He just feels like he’s needlessly pampered and can honestly do without it. “I hate it when he makes me feel insufficient. I live on my own and I do it just fine. I’m not as juvenile as he thinks.”  
  
“Or I think,” Shun says, shaking his head. “Point is, we’re all worried here. Even Nino’s worried. He’s been calling me and Toma for the last few hours, checking up on you. And I don’t know what to tell him because you and Toma are already raising your voices here, fighting over the dumbest things.”  
  
“Tell him I’m fine,” Jun says, grabbing a pillow and holding it close.  
  
“I don’t want to lie,” Shun tells him.  
  
Jun hides half of his face against the pillow, wondering how long it’ll take for him to lose himself over this. So far, Shun and Toma are doing the dirty work and preventing him from spiraling down even further, but it’s looming at the back of Jun’s mind like a haunted imagining.  
  
“I’m worried,” he says softly, quietly. He’s afraid someone will hear them. He doesn’t know where he’s safe; the people who took those photos could be anywhere. “I’m so worried about him.”  
  
“No comment from his side as of now,” Shun says. “His party has declined to respond to any queries as of this time. At least, that’s what I’ve gathered on the internet.”  
  
“They don’t know,” Jun says, and once he starts, he can’t seem to stop. “No one knows. Except for Fuma, Ueda, and those guys who started this little Sakurai Sho fanclub. Aniki Kai, they call themselves.” Jun finds himself smiling at the memory. “They call him Aniki because they adore him so much. They’re the only ones who know.”  
  
Shun exhales beside him, sounding exhausted. “So this is all news to his family.”  
  
“Yeah.”  
  
Another sigh. “That bad, huh.”  
  
“It’s not really me I’m worried about,” Jun admits. “Of course I’m bound to regret that now that I said it; there might be people stalking me for a comment as long as this hasn’t completely blown over. But it’s him I’m worrying about the most, with all the pressure coming from the elections.” Jun squeezes his eyes shut, guilt gnawing inside him. “Of all timings.”  
  
“They timed this perfectly, you know that,” Shun says. “They’ve been watching him. They were waiting for the right moment to strike and when they found it, they published that story. It’s a bunch of tabloids seeking to ruin his reputation, and one of the downsides is that in doing so, they had to involve you.”  
  
“It’s my fault,” Jun says. “You’ve seen the photos.”  
  
“No,” Shun says, shaking his head. “No, don’t go there. It’s not your fault.”  
  
“But it is,” Jun says. “I invited him that night. I kissed him in the car because I couldn’t help myself. I made him stay the night.”  
  
“The same night you also called things off between you because you were worried about how you will impact his campaign,” Shun points out. Then his eyes narrow. “Or is there another reason?”  
  
Jun doesn’t answer, and in his periphery, he catches Shun shaking his head once more.  
  
“You broke up with him because you thought there’s no place for you anymore,” Shun says. It’s not even a question and he doesn’t need to phrase it like one: he’s able to read Jun perfectly. “You felt that you both reached the limit.”  
  
“There was no other way,” Jun explains. “I thought I had to do it before anyone finds out. Turns out I was too late for acting on it; they were on us for a long time and we had no idea at all.”  
  
Shun lies down with a groan, elbow hitting Jun’s lower back. “What a fucking mess you’ve gotten into this time.”  
  
Jun thinks it won’t be the first time he has to say it and that he needs to start practicing. “Sorry.”  
  
“Don’t apologize to me,” Shun says. “Apologize to Yu. She had to do the sack race with another mom because I had to be here.”  
  
“I’ll make it up to her,” Jun promises. “And to the kids.”  
  
Another elbow jab, this time hitting the base of his spine. “And to Toma.”  
  
Jun snorts. “Yeah.”  
  
“And to no one else,” Shun says. “You hear me, Matsumoto? You don’t owe anyone an explanation or an apology. They will ask for it and they will want it, demand it from you. But you don’t owe them that. Not even this Sakurai, you understand? Or any of his fans. You already did your part, stepping aside to push him in the direction he himself has chosen even before you’ve met. It’s not on you anymore.”  
  
Still, Jun feels responsible. It’s because of him the photos turned out to be incriminating evidence. It’s his face that turned the speculations about Sho a reality, and he inadvertently gave the tabloids an answer to the question Sho never bothered to give a response to.  
  
“But I’m sorry this has happened,” Jun says. “Part of it is my fault no matter what you say.”  
  
“But he also has a hand in this,” Shun points out. “Good guy or not, he knew what he was getting into when he started a relationship with you. You’re both adults. None of it was coerced or forced. He entered a relationship with you despite the consequences. If you’re feeling guilty, he better feel as much as you do. And if you’re going to say sorry, he better say those words back. This is an unfortunate thing, but it’s not entirely your fault so don’t shoulder all the blame.” Another jab against Jun’s back, this time hard enough to make Jun wince. “I know how much you like taking responsibility, even for things that are totally beyond your control.”  
  
“Isn’t that what adults do?” Jun asks.  
  
“But there’s a limit to how much you can take upon yourself,” Shun reminds him. “Your problem, Jun, is that you’ve never acknowledged yours. You know them better than anyone else because they’re part of you, but if you can, you pretend they’re not there so you don’t end up disappointing anyone.”  
  
Jun hates this in-depth psychoanalysis that Shun seems to be into, but he’s correct on so many accounts since they’ve been friends for so long. He has his tongue against his cheek, unable to come up with a witty retort that’ll make him have the last word.  
  
“Maybe this is what you need,” Shun says eventually. “Maybe this is what you both need. You told me once that he didn’t seem happy with what he decided on. You have your job that’s slowly eating you even if you deny it. Maybe you both need a fresh slate or something.”  
  
“What are you trying to tell me?” Jun asks when he regains his voice, and he feels the mattress dip as Shun sits up. He looks over his shoulder to find Shun staring at him.  
  
“Give it time. Let it all blow over,” Shun says. “Take a breather. And when that’s done, you forgive yourself.”  
  
Jun shuts his eyes, words turning to ash in his mouth. In his heart, he’s grateful to his friends.  
  
A hand clasps his shoulder, squeezing tight. It’s reassurance, support, and acceptance in one simple yet sincere gesture.  
  
“Forgive yourself, Jun. That’s something only you can do.”  
  
\--  
  
It’s Ohno who first manages to get a hold of him when Shun and Toma finally agreed to let him have his phone back. He reviews the call log and sees at least three from his mother and perhaps five from his sister, and makes the mental note to call them back.  
  
“Hello?” Jun says, hoping he doesn’t sound like he slept the day away despite doing exactly that. He checks the time and sees that it’s an hour past opening hours. “I’m sorry, Leader. I can’t come to work today.”  
  
“Idiot,” Ohno says, and Jun can detect the concern in his voice. “How are you?”  
  
“Eating shitty tamagoyaki,” Jun says. “Toma can’t be bothered to exert effort.”  
  
Ohno laughs a bit, and it’s comforting to hear him do so. For a moment, Jun can pretend everything’s fine. “At least you’re eating. Nino’s worried. Aiba-chan is, too. Everyone is.”  
  
“I’m sorry for causing trouble,” Jun says.  
  
“Shut up,” Ohno snaps, and the fierceness in his tone makes Jun stop. “Don’t apologize for something that’s not your fault. If anyone should apologize, it’s these damn tabloids for trying to trespass on private property, for invading around your privacy, and for constantly bothering me for a comment despite me giving them one already.”  
  
The eggs don’t look too appetizing now that Jun’s learned that the tabloids are really trying to fish out as much information as they can. “You can file a police report on them.”  
  
“Oh I already have,” Ohno says. “But to ensure that they don’t accidentally assault any of my staff, I’ve given everyone a two-week-long leave. That includes you.”  
  
Jun blinks. “You’re closed for the night.”  
  
“Did you think I’ll open Akatsuki without my top host?”  
  
Hearing that makes Jun stop, hand tightening in its grip around his phone. “Won’t be there for much longer.”  
  
“Why? Because people now know you’re gay?” Ohno asks, unamused. “If they think their opinion matters that much, I’m more inclined to never remove your face in the ranking outside the club even if the time comes that Nino outsells you.”  
  
“That’s not being truthful to your clientele’s consensus, Leader,” Jun says.  
  
“And who says I have to be? I’d rather lose a couple of clients than someone who’s been there since I started this,” Ohno says. “Someone who knows the ups and downs, has been there when I thought of selling the club and talked me out of it. Told me to try again for a year more and worked harder than everyone else to keep people coming.”  
  
“You make it sound like it was a huge thing,” Jun says, embarrassed. That was years ago.  
  
“You think I don’t remember?”  
  
“I didn’t say that.”  
  
“Matsujun,” Ohno says, voice patient and kind, “all these years I watched you put more effort than what I required. I watched you turn this job into a craft that’s solely your own. I watched you outsell others and in doing so, sometimes convince them that this may not be the right job for them. I watched you retch for countless times every year on your birthday because client after client dotes on you and you want to put your best face for them. I watched you lose years on this job with me, and you think I’ll throw all of that aside over a tabloid’s words and people’s judgment on you? When I know so much more than them?”  
  
“Leader…”  
  
“Akatsuki’s not coming back without you,” Ohno says with finality. “When you’re ready, you tell me. Nino’s definitely enjoying the sudden vacation and since I’m feeling generous, it’s a paid leave for everyone. Including you if you want it.”  
  
“I don’t,” Jun says immediately. “Give it to somebody else. To the security personnel.”  
  
“I figured you’d say that,” Ohno tells him. “Aiba-chan is doing housesitting for you, by the way. He’s only mildly successful at deterring the snoops from your place, but he volunteered for it, so.”  
  
Jun frowns. “How did he get a key?”  
  
Ohno laughs. “Your landlady was getting annoyed by the paparazzi and she reached out to me for help. Aiba-chan heard and volunteered immediately. He’s only been there for a half a day but he’s reported the suspicious people to the authorities.”  
  
“Thank you,” is all Jun can say.  
  
“Drop a message to Nino if you can,” Ohno says. “He’s been pestering me as well.”  
  
“I will,” Jun promises.  
  
“And Matsujun?”  
  
“Yeah?”  
  
Somehow, he can hear Ohno smile from the other line. “We tried your coffee beans since you weren’t here. Too bitter and tasted like paper. Throw them out.”  
  
The line gets cut in the next moment, leaving Jun laughing at Ohno’s mockery of his tastes. In his defense, perhaps the coffee was simply too sophisticated for Ohno’s palate.  
  
“Paper,” he repeats with a snicker. They’re precious Arabica beans.  
  
He thinks he’ll never throw those just to spite Ohno.  
  
\--  
  
When Jun gathers up the courage to call his mother, he doesn’t get a word out. He doesn’t get the courage to speak, instead sticks to silence and listens to her.  
  
“I’ve read what they wrote about you,” is the first thing she says, voice indecipherable.  
  
To Jun, talking to her usually ends up a little different than what he expects. It’s not that she’s not motherly; she doted on him when he was a child, being her youngest. But she never really had any words for him when he came out to her, and Jun took it as a form of rejection despite not being explicitly stated as one.  
  
He’s had years of rejections. To him, it had been easier to look at it that way instead of being hopeful; he had an old journal of failures that had taught him that. It’s not as positive as movies make it out to be, as pop songs sometimes make him believe.  
  
“I see,” he answers, voice flat.  
  
“How are you?” she asks, and Jun tries to imagine what she might look like at present. She’s always been beautiful, and anyone who’s met her told him that a good portion of his looks can be attributed to her and her remarkable gene pool. But putting an expression to those features has always been a challenge.  
  
“Coping,” Jun says. He doesn’t know if it’s a lie—all he knows is that he has to answer.  
  
“Jun,” she says, and Jun takes a deep breath.  
  
“I don’t know what to tell you,” he says and it’s the truth. The last time he talked to her, she was inquiring about his bonsai and updating him about those turtles Nino had given him for one of his birthdays.  
  
“Tell me about him,” she says, which comes as a surprise. For a few moments, Jun finds himself unable to speak, to comprehend.  
  
She’s never asked about any of them before.  
  
Jun has no idea where to begin. He doesn’t know how much his mother knows, how much information the tabloids have provided to her.  
  
“Do you want me to tell you which parts of the articles are true and which ones are not?” he asks because he has to know. He can’t predict her.  
  
He receives a hum he can’t place. “What makes you think that?”  
  
Jun lets out a breath. “I don’t know. You’ve never really acknowledged this side of me before.”  
  
“That doesn’t mean I didn’t care,” she says. “Or that I don’t.”  
  
“Then why pretend it’s not a part of me? That it isn’t who I am?” Jun asks and it’s hard to mask the hurt in his voice. He never really received any form of acceptance from any of his parents. His sister was kinder to him, more open-minded.  
  
“Because by the time I was ready, you closed off. You moved to Tokyo and only visited during Christmas and the New Year’s. And soon, hardly ever,” she says. “I know this is a poor excuse. I could’ve reached out. But you never made it easy for me to do so.”  
  
“You could’ve called,” he says.  
  
“And I did,” she tells him. “Still, I couldn’t get a hold of you. It’s only now that we’re talking that I remember how good you are at running when you put your mind to it.”  
  
Her words surprise him. “I’m not running.”  
  
“Then why won’t you tell me?”  
  
“Because,” he starts, and realizes he can’t say it. Because all he has left are memories of Sho and he’s afraid that if he talks, he’ll lose them to her judgment, her scrutiny, and eventually, her disapproval. He shuts his eyes. “Because it no longer matters.”  
  
“It does to me if it’s a part of you,” she says, voice gentle. It reminds him of that time he got into an accident and instead of scolding him, she only told him to never do it again.  
  
“You’ve read what they wrote, you said,” Jun says. “What else do you not know?”  
  
“Was he good to you?” she asks bluntly, which makes Jun halt.  
  
Somehow, remembering it stings, leaving a bittersweet aftertaste. “He was,” he answers quietly. “I didn’t really do it for his money. Or his fame. Or for his family name.”  
  
“I never said you did,” she tells him. “I guess that’s all I wanted to know. Because if he hurt you, then I already know his name and where he lives.”  
  
That earns a small huff of laughter from Jun. “No need to be dramatic.”  
  
He hears her exhale, almost like she did it out of relief. “They’re not stalking you, are they?”  
  
Jun shrugs. There are still paparazzi snooping around, but the threat of a police report has deterred a few of them. So far, he was able to return home and pick up his groceries without getting ambushed. “They seem to have stopped for now.”  
  
“Don’t wear one of those hideous hats that you own,” she says admonishingly. “It gives you away. Stop being predictable for once.”  
  
He laughs; he can’t help it. “You think they’ll mock my fashion sense next? ‘Top host can’t be bothered to coordinate colors properly’ and the like?”  
  
“I’ve heard worse insults directed at you thanks to Shun and Toma,” she tells him with a quiet chuckle. “How’s the club?”  
  
“Will reopen in a few days,” Jun says. His parents never saw his workplace; only his sister did when she had that bachelorette party and decided to bring her friends to Akatsuki. It had been quite an experience for Jun. “But I won’t be on the floor. I’ll be bartending.”  
  
“Demoted?”  
  
Jun scoffs. “As if.”  
  
He can hear smile when she speaks again. “That’s the Jun I know.” A pause. Then: “No word from him?”  
  
Jun tries not to think about it. He is yet to try contacting Sho or any of the people working for him. It’s only been a day since the tabloids broke the news. “None.”  
  
“I see,” she says. “This might be impossible given the state of things now, but if there’s any chance for it to happen, I’d like to meet him.”  
  
Jun blinks, not certain if he heard that correctly. “What?”  
  
“If someone has made you happy, I think as your mother I have the right to meet them.” She sounds imposing and firm, not the one Jun would want to cross. “But only when you’re ready.”  
  
“I’m not sure I’m the one who has to be,” Jun says.  
  
He hears another smile. “Another thing for me to look forward to.”  
  
“Visit me at the club first,” Jun decides. “Buy me a drink. Then I’ll think about it.”  
  
She laughs, a sound of pure delight. “Very well. Can I bring Yoshida-san and her daughter from next door? You know her daughter fancies you.”  
  
Jun groans, but reconsiders it. “If they’re willing to have a drink with me, why not?”  
  
“All right,” she agrees.  
  
“I still don’t drink sake,” he remind her, causing her to laugh once more.  
  
When she speaks, Jun realizes where his mischievous side came from.  
  
“Then I know exactly which one to buy.”  
  
\--  
  
The uncomfortable feeling that has settled at the pit of Jun’s stomach grows with each passing day, and Jun thinks it’s a foreboding of some sort.  
  
Two days before the elections, Sho’s party finally releases a statement, and it’s one that Jun can hardly believe. Days of silence and somehow, Jun has no idea why this option never crossed his mind.  
  
**Sakurai Sho announces withdrawal of candidature a week following tabloid exposure, apologizes to everyone and thanks all who supported his campaign**  
  
His finger taps on the link before he even realizes it.  
  
_Sakurai Sho, 37, has officially withdrawn his candidacy following the exposure of his relationship with a popular male host from Tokyo. In a press conference attended by journalists from Gunma, Sakurai expressed his intentions to withdraw and informed everyone that his request has been approved, thus removing his name from the official roster of aspiring councillors for the coming elections.  
  
Sakurai also apologized for the inconvenience this sudden decision may have caused. He then proceeded to thank those who have supported his campaign until the end, and promised to serve Gunma in another way. “Gunma is part of who I am. I grew up here. I live here. If permitted, I’d still like to contribute to its improvement in the future.”_  
  
Jun keeps scrolling, heart thumping madly in his ribcage. He doesn’t know what to feel.  
  
_When asked about whether he denies the scandal or not, Sakurai replied, “You’ve seen the photos. There’s no point in denying something that’s already there,” which sparked a renewed interest in the entire hall. Sakurai, however, declined to answer any queries about the man he was seen with, claiming that “the invasion to my privacy also extended to his. If anything, I would like to spare him from any further intrusions to his personal life. I ask that you extend him the same courtesy.”  
  
Various reactions from netizens residing in Gunma can be read below._  
  
Jun grips his phone tightly, breaths coming out rushed. The wiser decision would’ve been to deny everything, to claim that the photos were mixed up to create an interesting story. It was what any sane person would have done, to deny any involvement with Jun and that nothing truly happened between them.  
  
But of course Sho doesn’t. Jun doesn’t know why he thought Sho would; perhaps his perception of people has been distorted by those who came before that he somewhat expected them to be all the same when they’re not. In his own way, Sho has protected him without denying his existence, who he was in his life.  
  
He scrolls further, finding screencaps of tweets and other comments from the site. They’re heartless and cruel, undoubtedly written out of spite. Reading them makes Jun’s blood boil and stomach turn that he can only wonder how Sho feels.  
  
_If he’s protecting this guy at the expense of his political career, then he’s not as bright as the media made me believe._  
  
_In the end, he chooses the host over Gunma. What will he campaign for next? Equality? Will he marry this guy in Gunma?_  
  
_I’d like to meet this host if Sakurai-kun went this far in protecting him. Just to know if he’s worth it._  
  
_I thought it was a lie, but Sakurai is really “that”, isn’t he? A shame._  
  
_That host took his money and his senses. He’s become stupid and lovesick. Pathetic._  
  
Jun stops, exiting the browser and taking measured breaths to calm himself. Getting riled up by comments from outsiders who know nothing won’t do him any good. He puts his phone on silent and opts for a run, faster than his usual on his treadmill. His music is the constant beating of his heart against his ears, like the clap of thunder before the raging storm.  
  
He runs, hoping it’s enough. For a moment, Jun wishes to forget. About Sho’s decision, the reaction, the judgment. The lack of support and acceptance. The reality that this has been Sho’s life for months and he’s kept it hidden from Jun, focusing on his time with Jun whenever they were together, like nothing else mattered.  
  
Maybe, Jun thinks, it’s better this way. Sho never really wanted to campaign, to hold a position of power like his father. He never explicitly stated it, but Jun knew. Sho hated the expectations, the hopes that people have whenever they come and meet him. He hated the fake smiles, the courtesies, the debt of gratitude he owed each sponsor with every meeting and luncheon.  
  
Sho is the most driven and passionate person he knows, but Jun could tell that his life didn’t revolve around his campaign. That a part of Sho wished to be free from the responsibilities that were simply passed on to him and not the ones he accepted by choice. That Sho, in his own Sho way, wished for independence despite the impossibility of it.  
  
It’s cruel that Sho had to be outed in this manner, but maybe it’s what he needs. Jun can’t really tell; they haven’t spoken to each other in weeks. But he has this gut feeling that he can’t shake, that despite the negativities online and the scathing, harsh comments Sho has received, perhaps Sho is thankful for the sudden turn of events.  
  
This way, he is now free. Jun was the unfortunate accessory for it to happen, but it wasn’t deliberate. They were both victims of people who wished to ruin somebody’s reputation and there’s nothing that can be done about it. But somehow, Jun can find himself accepting things as they are.  
  
Because this way, he no longer has to hide. Everyone now knows. And it’s the same for Sho, who has also hidden for years and lied about his preferences.  
  
Now there’s no need for that, and while Jun knows both of their careers would suffer for it, somehow, he also feels like a weight has been lifted off his shoulders.  
  
It’s not the best thing, but maybe it was the only way. He doesn’t know for sure. His feet keep running, body working up a good sweat, but with each step, he feels as if he’s leaving something he’s carried for so long somewhere behind him.  
  
Jun, for the first time since he discovered himself, feels unattached to anything and untouchable by anyone. In his heart, he hopes it’s the same for Sho, who’s been tied down for years and was forced to live according to what was expected of him.  
  
It’s too optimistic and quite unlike him, but it’s all he can hold on to. He runs faster, feet beginning to ache, but he doesn’t stop. He pushes and pushes until it feels like there’s nothing holding him back, until he feels like he’s finally crossed over the other side of the fence after years of simply looking at what’s beyond it.  
  
When he breathes, his lungs feel full. And when he keeps at it, feet going faster until his leg muscles feel like they’re burning, he finds himself smiling.  
  
\--  
  
Akatsuki reopens with a slight change to its decor. The wall dedicated to the faces of the top hosts has been emptied, with Ohno explaining that it’s a fresh start for everyone. Nino only throws a challenging look in Jun’s direction, and Jun, being assigned to bartender duties for the night, only directs the same look towards him.  
  
It’s been two weeks since the news broke out and a week since Sho’s withdrawal. Jun hasn’t heard from him since, and contacting any of those who work for him only leads them to their respective voicemails. He has no idea what Sho is doing or where he is, if he’s somewhere in Gunma or has gone overseas to take a break.  
  
Paparazzi still come snooping every now and then. A few have been successful at ambushing Jun on his way home, and he’s given them the same replies since they kept asking the same questions.  
  
“Were you truly with Sakurai Sho?” is what they usually ask.  
  
Jun would lift a hand to shield himself from the blinding flashes of their cameras and say, “You already have your story, don’t you?”  
  
And sometimes they still push. “Has the relationship ended? Are you in contact with him?”  
  
And Jun would say, “That’s private.”  
  
Sometimes they stop there. Most don’t. And now some of them are in Akatsuki, pretending to be clients when all they want is information about Jun in his workplace. But Ohno has the entire floor surrounded by security, and barely three hours from opening the doors, Jun has already seen the security personnel throw out at least two people for trying to take candid photos of Jun while at work.  
  
“Relentless,” Ohno says to him when he takes a sit on the bar. Jun fixes him with a drink, something of his own creation that Ohno drinks because he’s always been that kind of a challenger. “I’ve given them a statement. You have, too. Still they keep coming.”  
  
“Maybe they just really want to see me,” Jun says, trying to make light of the situation.  
  
“Oh they do,” Ohno agrees. He makes a face after taking a sip of the cocktail Jun made for him, nose scrunching. “The hell’s in there?”  
  
“The kind that’ll get you relaxed almost immediately,” Jun says.  
  
“Give some to Aiba-chan,” Ohno says. “He’s been watching the cameras closely just to make sure we have no paparazzi inside.”  
  
“I honestly don’t know what else do they want. They have their story. Their scoop. He’s given his side. I have given mine. What else can I give them?”  
  
“Technically,” Ohno starts, “you barely gave them a thing. You’re still a mystery to them, Matsujun. That’s why they don’t stop. Maybe the people on twitter really want to know more about you.”  
  
“So they rely on tabloids, requesting for photos of me via their feedback page?” Jun snorts, unamused. “What makes a thirty-five-year-old man so interesting?”  
  
“Your face does,” Ohno says, and when Jun makes a puzzled expression, he frowns. “You don’t know?”  
  
Jun wants to roll his eyes. “Know what? I’m actually following Nino’s advice for once and not checking the tabloids or twitter any further. I haven’t Googled myself or him for days now.”  
  
“Well, twitter’s kind of torn over you,” Ohno says anyway. “A good portion of them have nothing but awful words for you, but there are those who have seen your photos and think they understand Sho-kun a little more now.” There’s a particular glint in Ohno’s eye. “You know me, I’m not an internet person. But Nino is.”  
  
Jun casts a glance in Nino’s direction, wondering why Nino isn’t telling him these things himself. “He’s jealous?”  
  
Ohno laughs, soft huffs of delight that cause his shoulders to shake. “He can’t believe you gained a tiny fanbase on twitter. I don’t exactly know how it works. But there are those who are supportive of you and of Sho-kun.”  
  
“We’re no longer together,” Jun says, somewhat bitterly.  
  
“But they don’t know that,” Ohno says, which is the truth. “Maybe seeing two good-looking men really have that particular kind of impact. I don’t know. But the tweets Nino showed to me so far are really amusing.”  
  
“I hate him,” Jun says, throwing a disapproving look in Nino’s direction. “He’s enjoying this.”  
  
“He’s simply looking out for you,” Ohno explains. Sometimes he completely acts like the leader of Akatsuki, the one responsible for all of them. “He thinks it’s still funny, though.”  
  
“He has a very odd sense of humor,” Jun says.  
  
Ohno says nothing, instead finishes the cocktail Jun made for him despite its strong nature. The way he’s looking at Jun makes Jun self-conscious; it’s as if Ohno’s trying to look for something that Jun can’t define.  
  
He sighs. “I may have read some,” he admits, which causes Ohno to smile.  
  
“Of course you have,” Ohno tells him. “You’re the one who lurks on twitter from time to time.”  
  
He’s read what some of them say. Some were good, most of them bad. But the few good ones were quite interesting. If Jun’s being honest, he’d say that he and Sho somehow developed an online fanbase without their knowledge.  
  
“I still don’t understand why,” he adds.  
  
Ohno grins. “Really? With that face?”  
  
Jun looks away, the tips of his ears burning. “It’s weird, isn’t it?”  
  
“It can count as support,” Ohno says. “If you choose to look at it that way.”  
  
“I don’t want their support,” Jun says. “I have no use for it.”  
  
“Maybe you don’t need it,” Ohno acknowledges. “But you don’t know if he does.”  
  
That makes Jun shut up; he hasn’t been in communication with Sho for a long time and he is yet to know how things are for him. Not even calling him does the trick and sometimes Jun entertains the thought of going to Gunma just to check, but he doesn’t want to give the tabloids more to talk about.  
  
“I don’t think I’ll ever know,” he says, unable to keep how much it affects him. “We haven’t talked to each other in a long while. I can’t reach him no matter what I do. I think he decided to lie low for a while, to disappear even from me.”  
  
Ohno merely hums, his eyes knowing when they meet Jun’s. “Maybe he needs time. It’s only been a month.”  
  
Jun lets out a breath, feeling like it’s been his longest month to date. So many things have happened. He’s changed—they all have. Everyone who’s been with him all have. His colleagues had their own stories of how they dealt with the snooping paparazzi in Jun’s absence, and Jun is yet to listen to all of them.  
  
“Give him time, Matsujun,” is what Ohno says next. When he reaches across the counter, Jun grasps his hand firmly, squeezing. “The way you got together was rather abrupt, don’t you think? Maybe it’s time for the both of you to take it slowly.”  
  
“If there’s any chance at all,” Jun says. The possibility of this being the end isn’t lost to him. He knows what he hopes for, but it’s all he can do.  
  
Ohno squeezes his hand this time. “I’m not saying it ends here because I don’t know. Nobody knows. But don’t rush. You’ve always been the type who does that.” He laughs. “But I’m afraid you can’t do that this time.”  
  
“I know.”  
  
“Then let time deal with everything else,” Ohno says. “I’ll help you in any way I can, you know that. But you have to take it slowly. I’m older than you and I can’t match your pace.”  
  
Jun smiles, somewhat relieved by Ohno’s odd way of comforting him. It’s an Ohno-specific quality that Jun knows he can never do without. No matter what happens, Ohno will always hold a special place in him.  
  
“You’re so weird,” he says affectionately, but he doesn’t let go of Ohno’s hand. Its warmth soothes him in ways he can’t describe, and for a long time Jun contents himself with holding on, knowing that this is something that he’ll never lose.  
  
\--  
  
It doesn’t come in the way Jun’s expecting.  
  
Over the past few weeks, Jun has managed to construct several scenarios in his head. Sometimes it’s like the movies, wherein Sho miraculously turns up on his doorstep and offers him a fresh start. When he’s feeling less sadistic to himself, he acknowledges that it’s a scenario that will never happen.  
  
Sometimes it’s something that looks like it’s been lifted straight from a cheap romance paperback novel, in which he and Sho meet accidentally at one of Sugimoto Hiroshi’s exhibits and they find their way back together, able to start anew after everything that’s happened. That particular imagining fades away after a good cup of strong coffee, only to resurface when Jun’s back to nursing that glass of wine before bedtime.  
  
And rarely, perhaps once or twice, it involves the impossible which is Sho showing up in Akatsuki, in the same private room where they first met. In this one, he asks for Jun and Jun enters the room unknowingly, only to be swept off his feet by Sho’s presence. This is the one Jun will deny ever coming up with when asked—it’s too poetic even for his tastes.  
  
But when it comes, there’s no Sho involved. It’s been two months and a half since then, and Jun has taken on the role of personally mentoring their new recruits as per Ohno’s request. He’s been indefinitely removed from the floor despite his loyal clients asking for him, and Jun has to admit that he’s growing to like his new role. It’s not as thrilling as pleasing client after client, but he feels like he’s worth something as he watches the recruits take down notes regarding what he’s saying.  
  
There’s no Sho involved, but it’s all about him. When his phone rings, Jun’s expecting it to be the courier who got lost on his way to deliver the package that was supposed to arrive the day before. It’s an unknown number and Jun picks up after excusing himself from the room where Ohno and Aiba gathered the recruits.  
  
“Hello?” he says tentatively.  
  
The person from the other line clears his throat. “Matsumoto-san. Hello.”  
  
It’s not Sho, but it’s about him. That much is obvious because Jun is speaking to Ueda.  
  
His breath hitches, and he reaches out to the nearby wall for support. If his knees give way, he won’t be surprised at all.  
  
“Hello,” he says when he regains his voice. “How have you been?”  
  
“Driving,” Ueda says, which gives him nothing but somehow makes him laugh. It’s as if nothing has changed. The last time he spoke to this man, they were planning to get him to Gunma without Sho knowing as a form of surprise.  
  
Was this another planned surprise?  
  
“I see,” he says.  
  
“And you, Matsumoto-san?”  
  
Jun smiles. “Teaching.”  
  
He senses Ueda’s surprise. “Oh?”  
  
“To the club’s new recruits,” Jun explains. “Something to pass the time.”  
  
Ueda hums. “Should I wait for you to ask or should I take the initiative?”  
  
Jun pauses, thinking. He isn’t quite sure what he wants to hear, but he knows what he wants. He wants to know how Sho’s doing. He’s not even hoping for a chance to meet; Ueda’s words would be enough for him.  
  
“What did you call me for?” is how Jun chooses to phrase it. “And with a different number too.”  
  
“We all decided to change our numbers after the press conference,” Ueda says. “Just so people would stop bothering us after we said our piece. My apologies if that made us unreachable.”  
  
Jun doesn’t want to go into detail about his frustrations at being unable to get a hold of any of them. He figured that Sho and the people who worked for him had taken measures to protect Sho’s privacy (or what was left of it). “It’s done.”  
  
“I called to ask how you were doing,” Ueda says, answering his question.  
  
“For your own curiosity?” Jun asks, just a tad hopeful.  
  
If Ueda’s smiling on the other line, he can’t tell. “Not really.”  
  
Jun decides to step out for a bit of fresh air, opening the fire exit and staying there. It’s colder now, the winter solstice arriving sooner than any climate predictions. Jun shivers; he’s always been weak to extremes of temperature.  
  
“How is he?” he asks, finally giving in.  
  
“Better,” Ueda says, which is a relief but not enough. He’s good at not giving Jun anything concrete. Whether he wants Jun to work harder for it or this is simply how he is is hard to say.  
  
“I’m glad,” Jun says sincerely, because it’s his first update on Sho’s wellbeing since the tabloids posted the news. “I’m really glad.”  
  
“I hope it’s the same for you,” Ueda says. “I hope that somehow you’re doing better. It’s what Aniki would want.”  
  
Jun lets out a breath, out of relief and something else he can’t accurately describe. It’s something akin to understanding despite not being given context of the situation at present.  
  
“He needs more time,” Jun says. It’s not a question.  
  
“Yes,” Ueda says.  
  
Jun finds himself nodding. “Okay.”  
  
“Thank you for understanding,” Ueda says. “I’m sorry if this wasn’t what you were expecting.”  
  
Jun is unable to suppress a tiny laugh from escaping; he’s had a couple of over the top expectations. “I’m just glad to hear from someone who actually knows what’s going on with him. I won’t ask. I won’t pry. I’m good with knowing how he’s doing for now. If he needs time as you imply then he’ll have it.”  
  
“Will you be waiting for him?” Ueda asks.  
  
Jun considers it, sticking to silence for a couple of beats. Then he decides to go with the truth. “I’m not quite sure. I don’t know if I’m ready. But hopefully, I will be once he is.”  
  
For the next few seconds, there’s only silence between them.  
  
“I will let Aniki know,” Ueda promises.  
  
Jun can only smile. “Thank you.”  
  
“I’m sorry if I inconvenienced you with this call,” Ueda says, and Jun knows it’s time.  
  
“No matter,” Jun reassures him. “I’m glad you reached out. Will I be able to call this number if I have to or will you change it again?”  
  
“No plans of changing as of now,” Ueda informs him. “If there’s anything you’d like for Aniki to know, please feel free to contact this number. I’ll try my best to let him know.”  
  
Jun doesn’t really deserve any of this, but he’s grateful for it. Right now, it’s his only way of reaching Sho even if Sho’s not yet ready. “Thank you,” he says again. And just to make things easier, he adds, “Until then.”  
  
Ueda mimics him. “Until then, Matsumoto-san.”  
  
When the call ends, Jun allows himself to breathe. He looks up, out into the city that’s beginning to brim with nightlife, lights illuminating establishments and streets, the surroundings filled with chatter from passersby. It’s the start of another night.  
  
He walks inside without looking back. Whatever conversation he just had on phone, he keeps in his heart, locked away and safe from anyone else. If he holds on, it’s all he can do.  
  
Until they’re both ready.  
  
\--  
  
It’s snowing and it’s been three, maybe four months since the tabloids when Jun makes a decision. It took him a long time to sort out things, to contemplate the circumstances brought about by certain events and to arrive at a conclusion.  
  
But the first person he decides to share it with is Aiba.  
  
They talk about it when everyone in the club has left, when it’s only the corner lights that are turned on and dawn has completely turned into morning.  
  
“I think I want to try something else,” is how he chooses to phrase it, a glass of sparkling water in hand. He’s had enough alcohol for the night.  
  
Aiba’s sharper than most people give him credit for, and the way he looks at Jun is full of understanding. It’s as if he’s known all along. “What is it?”  
  
“Leader’s been looking for someone who can look after everyone when he’s not around, right?”  
  
Aiba is smiling when Jun glances at him. “Yes. For a long time now, actually. It’s an extension of my job, really, but I’m more of the technical guy. Teaching the recruits is going well for you?”  
  
Jun nods. “It’s something new but I’m good at it. I don’t know how. But I know I like doing it.”  
  
Aiba reaches out to squeeze his shoulder reassuringly, firmly. “Tell Leader.”  
  
“You think it’s a good idea?”  
  
Aiba hums. “I think it’s great that you found something worth doing. Honestly, a part of me thought you’d take the decline in popularity a little too hard since you’re not used to it. Sorry about that. It’s just we’re all still adjusting, not seeing you leading the ranks.”  
  
It’s been like that for a while. Jun has dropped to number two about a month ago, something Nino never stopped reminding him of, but this month he’s looking at number three if he’s optimistic and number four if he’s being realistic.  
  
Thanks to the tabloids (though they have stopped after an entire month of tormenting Jun), Jun’s popularity in the club has come to a descent. Not that he minds; he’s still employed and working with people he genuinely likes. He’s been recruited by Ohno to personally oversee the training of their new hosts, fresh faces who might see success someday if they’re up to it. And to him, it’s been quite rewarding, seeing the genuine happiness in their faces when they manage to please a client.  
  
He’s been there. He knows how it feels.  
  
But now it’s time to see things from a different perspective. Before, Jun completely had no idea what to do because being number one had its connotations and expectations. He had to be perfect, charming, and quite unreachable for people to keep coming. And they did for years, for more than a decade. Jun’s grateful for all of it—the years of support, the decade he’s spent in the club—and now wants to give back.  
  
“I think I quite like the view from down here,” he tells Aiba honestly, smiling back when Aiba grins. “I’ll never say that in front of Nino, though.”  
  
“Tell Leader,” Aiba says one more time. “I think he will understand. He’s had these feelings before when he decided to quit being a host and stay on the sidelines instead.”  
  
Jun does, but only after a night or two, when he and Ohno are alone in the dressing room and Ohno’s picking his nose while Jun’s removing the makeup he had for the night.  
  
When it comes from him, it’s direct and firm because he didn’t want to give Ohno any reason to worry about his intentions over it. “I want to help you manage Akatsuki.”  
  
Ohno is Ohno, so he doesn’t bother dislodging his finger from his nose. He has an eyebrow quirked in curiosity. “I have Aiba-chan.”  
  
“Who manages the floor,” Jun says. “I’m not talking about the floor. I’ve been on the floor long enough.”  
  
“Longer than I have, in fact,” Ohno acknowledges, grinning. “It’s not easy.”  
  
Jun knows that. “You just make it seem so.”  
  
Ohno laughs. “Not really. I show it sometimes—the fatigue, the frustration—whatever else comes with the secrecy. I’m the one who knows who are the private clients, after all. Not everyone’s like you—hiding themselves after the job, after a particularly difficult client. I’m a good listener, but even that has its limits.” Ohno eyes him. “Are you sure? It’s different than what it looks like.”  
  
“I’m not saying I can manage the kids,” Jun tells him.  
  
“But that’s exactly what you’re saying,” Ohno shoots back, grinning.  
  
Jun nods. “Yeah. I think I’m up for it if you give me the chance.”  
  
Ohno blinks, frowning now. “You know, you said the exact same thing when I interviewed you.”  
  
Now it’s Jun’s turn to frown. “After I mistook you for the janitor?”  
  
Ohno’s smile is wide and welcoming, somehow warm. “But before you clarified that I wasn’t really the janitor.” The way he laughs is soft, eyes crinkled in delight. “I’m not discouraging you and I know you know this, but this job is important to me. It may not look like that way because of how I run things, but this is important to me. We’ve been friends for years and have been together for longer, Matsujun, so I’m sure you understand. But you have to know exactly how much before you jump into something you might not be ready for.”  
  
“I’m not entirely sure I’m ready for it,” Jun admits. “But I know I want to do it. And I know that if I don’t, I’ll never get to know how it feels and I’ll never find something else. This—I know this is how it may look to you, but I’m not doing this just to find something else to do. This isn’t a fallback.”  
  
Ohno’s looking at him seriously now, eyes narrowed. “Then what is it?”  
  
“Something I want to try,” Jun says. “Something new. Surely you understand—you’ve been here before. Didn’t you feel the same? Trying out something, branching out? Chasing independence or whatever flowery words you may have used before?”  
  
“In your case it’s not exactly independence,” Ohno says. “It’s stepping out of the limelight to let the others experience what’s it like. You know that not all of them will last. If you get attached, it’s going to be a little difficult once you have to let them go because they’ve found something else.” The look on his face softens, and Jun realizes that this is the Ohno that he rarely sees: the Ohno who has treated every single one of them as family but instead of holding them back, has pushed them in the direction they want to go, full of belief and support for their goals.  
  
“Leader…”  
  
“I first felt that way when Yamapi had to go,” Ohno says. “He entered around the same time as you, was as popular as you, but he found something else. After years of staying with us, he left. I don’t hold it against him. I’m happy for him; he still keeps in touch from time to time. But it’s a cycle for anyone in this job, that the people you interact with come and go. You know that.”  
  
Jun takes a seat beside him, facing him with determination. If he looks shifty, Ohno would be able to tell. “I do. I know what I’m asking for. And I may not know the depths of what you had to go through for each of us you accepted in this club but I know how far you went for me. Not just the last time but in all the times before. I’m not relieving you from your post—I’m still going to need you to be around along with Aiba-kun and maybe even Nino—but I’m saying you don’t have to do it alone. You want to take a rest? Then it’s fine.”  
  
Ohno sighs, and for the first time, Jun sees how this job has aged him. The lines on his face, the weight of his stare. “I haven’t gone fishing for a long time.”  
  
“Then go catch the biggest tuna that you can lure in and make us sashimi,” Jun says, reaching out to play with Ohno’s hair. He’s always had a soft spot for Ohno—Ohno was the one person who accepted him when others outright refused to. “If I’m here, you don’t have to do it alone. Guide me so I can do the same to those younger than us. Who knows, one of them might be better than us combined.”  
  
That makes Ohno chuckle, shaking his head. “I established Akatsuki at twenty-three. You became my top host for thirteen straight years since entering the club at twenty-three. Some of them have just turned legal age. You think they can do better than what we did?”  
  
Jun laughs, punching Ohno’s arm. “Why are you suddenly so competitive? It’s not like we’re going to lose to them!”  
  
“I’m kidding,” Ohno says, still laughing softly. “You sure you want to do this? It’s not as bright as how it looks like when you’re at the floor. No champagne towers or fancy stories or glittering chandeliers. Just a lot of retching over the toilet and helping youngsters choose a less outrageous necktie or hairstyle.”  
  
“I’m thinking of having the new hosts do some kind of a performance hour each night,” Jun says, and he sees how Ohno regards him differently, amusement in his eyes. “Just something that will help promote closeness since they’re all from the same generation. I know how it feels like to be isolated because you’re outselling everyone on the floor and I don’t want that to happen to them.”  
  
“I’ll think about it,” Ohno says. “They can all sing and dance or backflip or whatever—I’m sure you have many more of these ideas. This is how you choose to retire, then?”  
  
“Maybe I’ll come back someday,” Jun says. “I’m not sure. You ever considered going back? Just being a host for one night to remember how it was like?”  
  
Ohno hums in thought. “Not really. But right now, I might be. Thanks to you.” Jun grins at that. “Maybe someday the two of us can go back. Just be on the floor for one night. You think people would buy drinks for two old men whose hands would shake while holding a lighter?”  
  
Jun laughs, his shoulders shaking. “By that time? No. Perhaps Aiba-kun would give us the drinks himself out of pity. But it’ll still be fun, I think. I’m choosing to look at it that way, that my retirement from the spotlight is not the end to what I can do. And I won’t do this just for anybody else.”  
  
“Oh Matsujun,” Ohno says fondly, “you better not be doing this out of gratitude. Out of what you feel you owe me for all those years. You don’t owe me anything. I did what I did for you because you’re my friend, a part of my family. And I’ll do everything again if asked. But they were all freely given and I wasn’t expecting any form of payment on your part. It doesn’t work that way.”  
  
“I know it doesn’t,” Jun affirms. “I’m not retiring and staying because I feel like I owe it to you. I’m staying because I want to. Because even though I won’t show up on the frontlines anymore, I still want to be a part of Akatsuki. You call us your family, Leader. It’s the same for me.”  
  
“I never told you,” Ohno says softly, quietly, “but when we first met, I thought you were quite an impressionable one. I was right—you’ve made an impression, an impact to clients and to hosts alike, and still you’re making one on me. I always knew you were the type who’d never settle. In that way, we’re alike. But unlike you, I have something else I want to do, something that goes beyond Akatsuki’s walls.”  
  
“Fishing,” Jun says. “And drawing. And everything else that doesn’t come with being an owner of a host club, someone who’s left quite a legacy in the business. With me, you can do all those. Why aren’t you taking my bait?”  
  
“Because I don’t want to live freely at the expense of tying you down,” Ohno says, and his words make Jun stop. “I’ve told you before and I’m telling you now: if you find something else and you have to go, do it. I will never hold it against you. But you’re telling me you’re choosing to stay because you want to. Somehow, that makes me feel relieved. I was afraid you’d feel obligated.”  
  
“That’s the farthest thing I could feel about staying here,” Jun says. “I like it here. But I think I’ve had enough of pouring drinks for people and trying to impress them with my face. I think it’s time that I step down and look in another direction. Breathe there for a while. Or for the next thirteen years.” He reaches for Ohno’s hand and squeezes it tight. “You won’t get rid of me that easily, Leader. Not after everything.”  
  
Ohno smiles, heartfelt and true. It makes him look younger with the way it reaches his eyes. “I knew you were a stubborn guy when you wanted to be. That’s what we have in common, really. I remember telling you to lose the extensions when you were starting here and you pulled your hair back in a bun to tell me no.”  
  
Jun snorts in amusement; his younger self had edgier methods of telling people to fuck off. “Still made me number one.”  
  
“After that, I stopped telling you what to do,” Ohno says. “I figured you’d never listen and that I’ve found my match.”  
  
“I’m only doing this with your permission,” Jun says. “I’m going to teach them everything I know, share my experience if only to prevent them from making the same mistakes as I did. But only at your word.”  
  
“Then you have it,” Ohno says. He smiles dreamily, eyes sliding shut. “I can already smell the sea.”  
  
Jun laughs, swatting at the back of his head. “You’re never coming home the moment you get your damn boat out of the coast. Take me with you sometime. Let me enjoy the sea.”  
  
“I’ll take you and Aiba-chan and Nino, if only Nino doesn’t get seasick,” Ohno says. “But yeah, I will. Let’s all go anyway. Nino can join in via FaceTime or something. I’ll set the date.”  
  
Jun stands, straightening his clothes. “Do that. And I’ll deal with these kids and their clashing personas and attitudes. See if I can whip some of them into shape or something.”  
  
He’s almost out of the door when he hears Ohno call him.  
  
“You’ve certainly grown up,” Ohno says with a kind smile. “I feel like a proud parent looking at one of my sons who grew old enough to make his own decisions. Gross, but it’s true.”  
  
“You love me,” Jun says confidently, smiling back when Ohno nods.  
  
“You’re still the number one host in my heart, Matsujun,” Ohno says, and Jun shakes his head as he rolls his eyes. “Remember that.”  
  
Jun leaves then, certain that Ohno’s watching his back. For years, that’s what Ohno has done for him and for everyone else in this club—looking out for them and taking care of them.  
  
Now, Jun decides it’s his turn to do the same. To hold Ohno’s hand as they make way for the new generation of hopefuls. He can already see the finish line and he knows it’s time. It’s been time for a long time—it’s just that Jun has problems with letting go and venturing into the unknown.  
  
But he’s been putting it off for so long that he knows he’s finally reached his limit. It took him a string of tabloid articles speculating about his intentions and personality, but it’s the kind of push that he’s always needed, being the type who needs constant validation.  
  
He can still remember the warmth emitted by Ohno’s touch when he held it in his hand and decides that if he lets go of something, he’d rather choose his life as a host than Ohno Satoshi.  
  
\--  
  
It’s the middle of winter when Jun finds it again.  
  
He’s instructing some of their kouhais on what to do for a surprise party for Aiba when his phone vibrates in his pocket. He rejects the call without glancing at the caller ID and is about to open his mouth to continue where he left off when it rings again.  
  
Annoyed, Jun mutters, “One second,” and frowns at the unknown number contacting him. He excuses himself and heads to the fire exit, finally picking up.  
  
Before he can get a word out, the person on the other line manages to speak first.  
  
“Hello. Is this Matsumoto-san?” It’s in keigo, nothing too different from any other callers who wish to inform Jun about the status of his online deliveries. But this is no courier or any underpaid customer service personnel.  
  
He knows that voice, the way each syllable of that question is articulated in a deep timbre that makes his heart stop. He thinks the winter wind has finally gotten into him, the cold rendering him unable to speak.  
  
Jun holds on to the nearby railing, grasping tight. When he finds the words, his lips are dry and his throat seems parched. “Yes.”  
  
“Is it all right for him to talk?”  
  
It’s not. Jun thinks he’s hardly composed for this. It’s been months. And in those months, he’s immersed himself in his new role in the club, taking care of their kouhais and making things less difficult and more manageable for Ohno. It took him time to fully adjust to what he has to do, to what his new job entails, but by now he’s more or less used to it.  
  
“I—why are you talking in keigo?” Jun finds himself asking, somewhat impressed by how he manages to filter the emotions bubbling inside him.  
  
“It’s been a while. I’m not sure how you’ll take it. You did drop the line earlier.”  
  
“I didn’t know who was calling,” he says. “I was with our kouhais.”  
  
“Ueda told me you’ve been teaching. Fuma asked around and said you weren’t working as a host anymore. But you’re still in Akatsuki.”  
  
“Still,” Jun echoes. “I like what I’m doing. It’s out of the spotlight, but I like it.” He takes a deep breath and finally asks, “How have you been?”  
  
“I—” he pauses, and Jun is almost afraid he won’t continue. Jun’s grip on the phone tightens reflexively. “Would you like to come and see? I could tell you, but I find that I’d much rather let you see. If you want to, of course.”  
  
Jun blinks; he wasn’t expecting that. He thought he’d receive a curt answer that he can smile at. “Where?”  
  
“In Minakami. I’ll forward the address to you. It’s not much. It’s far from what I was able to do before. But it’s something I’m proud of and I’d be glad if you can come see.” Jun can hear him smile on the other line. “Should I have Ueda pick you up?”  
  
“No,” Jun says immediately, firmly. “No. If I go, I want to go on my own terms. Not because you asked the people you trust to make sure I’m there. If I go, I want you to not know when.” It’s Jun’s turn to smile this time. “You’ve surprised me with your call. I should do the same.”  
  
When he laughs, it takes Jun back. To days of them sneaking out, hiding what they have from prying eyes. When they both took a break, Jun failed to delete any photos that reminded him of their time together. Despite everything that’s happened, he could never bring himself to do it. He merely resolved to not look at them until it starts to hurt less, but the time never came.  
  
“We operate from Mondays to Saturdays. No lunch breaks and until five in the afternoon. Just to give you our office hours.”  
  
“I’ll keep it in mind,” Jun promises. “But I’m not saying I’ll go. I’ll think about it.”  
  
“Please do.” For a moment, there is silence, with just the two of them breathing. Jun can’t even tell if it’s synchronized or not. His heartbeat overshadows the sound of each exhale. “And Jun?”  
  
Jun shuts his eyes, that drop of his stomach at the sound of his name from Sho’s lips is hard to ignore. Sho still has that effect on him no matter what he does. “Yes?”  
  
“I’m glad you picked up,” Sho says sincerely. Jun can tell he’s smiling. “I’m really glad.”  
  
Jun now has a hand over his mouth, overcome with emotion. He wants to say so many things. But he knows it’ll be better if he utters all of them in person, with him and Sho face-to-face. With no distance between them and without minding anyone who may see them.  
  
“I’m glad you called,” he says, hoping Sho doesn’t notice how affected he is. “Again, I mean. After I rejected the first one.”  
  
Sho’s soft chuckles tickle his ears, and Jun is hit with how much he’s missed him. “I’m not sure where I got the courage to call again, actually. But a part of me was hoping you pressed wrongly.”  
  
“Is that the same part of you that’s hoping I’ll come to Minakami?”  
  
“Possibly.”  
  
“Then hold on to that,” Jun says. “After all, I picked up on the second try today.”  
  
“You’re not making any promises?” Sho asks, and Jun knows it’s time.  
  
“No,” he says. “You don’t want me to, anyway.”  
  
He can imagine Sho’s smile. “No, I don’t.”  
  
“Then without promising anything, maybe you’ll hear from me,” Jun says, and he laughs at the same time Sho does. It feels good to do so, like a weight has been lifted off his shoulders. “Or not. Maybe you have to call again.”  
  
“Maybe I do,” Sho says. “Maybe I will. Whatever you want, really.”  
  
I already have what I want, Jun almost says. But he holds himself back and settles for a simple “I’ll tell you. Until then.”  
  
Sho mimics him, saying the words back, and it’s Jun who ends the call with decisive tap of his finger. When he lifts his head, the sky has cleared and a full moon is out amongst the clouds.  
  
The winter wind blows against his skin, leaving a cold trail that makes him shiver, but inside, Jun feels warm, his heart full.  
  
\--  
  
The address Sho forwards to him is something he decides to use on a Saturday morning. He goes for a long drive after securing Ohno’s permission, telling Ohno that there’s still one more thing he has to settle.  
  
The drive takes him more than an hour. He doesn’t hurry, instead takes his time to enjoy the view. The last time he’s been to Gunma, he barely had time to appreciate the sights. He was more preoccupied with being caught or not, at how secret everything was.  
  
Right now, things are still secret. No one really knows he’s here. He didn’t tell any of his friends, not even the person he’s coming to meet. It’s been weeks since that call, after all. Jun was able to keep things civil in any of the text messages they’ve exchanged so far, but he knows it’ll be a little different once he sees Sho in person.  
  
It’s been five months. Jun has no idea how much has changed in that time. They’re both different. They’re no longer those two people clashing at the thirty-first floor of the Four Seasons or at the parking lot of a nabe restaurant.  
  
The place he arrives at is a three-storey building with a parking space that’s covered in a thick blanket of snow. On his right, he can see a neat row of buses, their sides bearing the logo of a hand drawn sakura enclosed in a circle.  
  
Jun climbs off his car and tugs his coat around his form. Minakami is colder than Tokyo, and someone who easily succumbs to extremes of temperature like Jun still feels unprepared despite already wearing a turtleneck under his coat.  
  
When he walks towards the building, the soles of his boots crunch in the snow. He steadily makes his way forward, and with a gloved hand, finally pushes the glass door open.  
  
A bell tingles somewhere above his head, alerting the person on the front desk to his presence. It’s someone Jun doesn’t recognize, a young man in his early twenties, perhaps. Jun wonders if he’s a new recruit in Sho’s Aniki Kai or something.  
  
“Hello,” Jun says when he approaches, and the way the man looks at him speaks volumes. He knows who Jun is. The way his eyes widened at the sight of Jun tells everything. He’s probably read everything there is about the man once linked to his boss. “I was given this address. I have no idea how things work here; perhaps you can help?”  
  
The guy seems to get over his surprise at seeing Jun and nods repeatedly. “I—yes. Yes, of course. May I know who you’re looking for?”  
  
Jun smiles. He has to push his glasses up his nasal bridge before he speaks. “I think you know.”  
  
Before the guy can reply, another person comes out of the door to Jun’s left. He doesn’t seem to notice Jun, eyes on his phone as he asks, “Fujigaya-kun, do you want to go grab lunch? Massu’s saying he knows—”  
  
He stops talking when he looks up, freezing in his tracks. He looks at Jun like he can’t believe Jun is there.  
  
In hindsight, Jun can’t, either. It’s been so long.  
  
“Jun,” Sho says after a long moment that seems to stretch to torment Jun further. The way he utters Jun’s name is breathless and disbelieving, and Jun can’t blame him. Sho’s thinner now, his chin and the sides of his mouth unshaven with unruly facial hair. He’s wearing one of those white shirts that he owns, the ones with colorful breast pockets.  
  
The overworked, fatigued Sho that Jun is used to seeing is gone. What replaced him is a man who hasn’t bothered with public appearances for a while as evidenced by his lack of makeup and product on his hair, but he’s still the same man who’s able to make Jun’s stomach feel funny.  
  
“Sho-san,” Jun says in greeting. “I thought I had the wrong address.”  
  
“You didn’t,” Sho says. He seems to have recovered, approaching the nearest rack and grabbing one of the jackets hanging there. “Fujigaya-kun, you go catch lunch with the others. Don’t worry about me.”  
  
The guy Fujigaya nods and excuses himself, and Sho turns to him. They’re standing quite far from one another but Jun can already smell him. It’s exactly the same as he remembers.  
  
“Do you want to take a walk?” Sho offers.  
  
Jun accepts with a single nod, and Sho is kind enough to hold the door open for him. Jun follows him out, to where a garden should be if it wasn’t for the cover of snow. Ahead, Jun can see the metalworks he normally associates with playgrounds, deserted and cold. They walk side by side, footsteps synchronized like a choreography they knew by heart.  
  
“I found this building for sale when I was driving aimlessly around Gunma,” Sho explains, gesturing to the building behind them. “Bought it as soon as everything quieted down.”  
  
“How long did that take?” Jun asks.  
  
“Two months,” Sho says. “How long was it for you?”  
  
“Pretty much the same,” Jun says with a shrug. “Would you mind telling me how you came up with all of this?”  
  
Sho’s smiling when he speaks next, tone fond and full of pride. “It’s nothing much, really. But Otonoha’s a non-profit organization that caters to small groups who want to produce music in somewhat unconventional ways.” He laughs, rich and infectious. “The other week, we held an air guitar playing contest. Unexpectedly, it was a hit. Only in Minakami, but we managed to raise enough money that went to support relief operations in Hiroshima.”  
  
“Did you do it?” Jun asks, trying to imagine it. “Air guitar?”  
  
Sho grins. “Wore a mesh to show my enthusiasm and all. They think Sakurai Sho has gone uninhibited now that he’s not a candidate. They think I’ll soon dress in drag.”  
  
Jun only smiles, looking at their feet, at the trail they leave behind. His set of footsteps have gotten closer to Sho’s own without them realizing, as if they’re inevitably being drawn together in the middle. “Tell me you have photos of those.”  
  
“Oh Fuma’s got an entire album for it,” Sho says. “In HD at that. He says they’re his treasures.”  
  
Jun points to the sakura logo he’s seen plastered on the sides of one of the buses. “I assume that’s the logo for Otonoha?”  
  
Sho nods. “Gives me away, huh?”  
  
Jun grins. “Hardly. Just how many people would use a sakura?”  
  
“Only a handful, I believe,” Sho says, playing along. Then: “How have you been?”  
  
Jun settles for the same response he’s given Ueda at that time. “Teaching.”  
  
“I’ve heard,” Sho says with a nod. “So you’re handling things backstage now. Is it any different?”  
  
“On many occasions,” Jun admits. “No one buys drinks for me anymore. If I get drunk, it’s because there’s someone celebrating his birthday.”  
  
“I’ll buy you a drink if you let me,” Sho says, and Jun shakes his head.  
  
“We’re way past that, don’t you think?”  
  
Sho looks ahead, at the empty lot before them. He points to the set of swings and they both take a seat on each, still side by side with Sho to his right. If the paparazzi could see them, they’d be utterly delighted to have something new.  
  
“I’ve been wanting to say this since I first saw you today,” is how Sho chooses to begin this time, and Jun simply hums to let him continue. “But you have to know that you look really good, and I don’t blame Fujigaya for just staring at you when I would’ve done the same.”  
  
That makes Jun laugh at how ridiculous it is. He’s in one of his old turtlenecks, a black cashmere that feels comfortable against his skin, and a dark coat that’s seen better days. His glasses are the dark-rimmed ones with huge frames, and he has to wipe them every now and then to keep them from fogging up.  
  
He thinks he’s hardly attractive. But the tips of his ears still burn.  
  
“You’ve seen me at the club, when I was on the floor,” Jun says. “I think that’s the most good-looking I’ve been. Don’t you?”  
  
“You’d find that there are many situations in which I find you completely attractive despite your disbelief over each,” Sho says. “Which doesn’t really matter when most people would agree with me. I’m getting sidetracked now.”  
  
Jun smiles. “You are.”  
  
“Another thing that I wanted to say,” Sho starts, and the seriousness that he adapts is what makes Jun look at him, “is that I’m sorry. I know it’s too late. I know it probably doesn’t matter anymore given the length of time that has passed. But still, you need to hear it. I need you to hear it. That I’m sorry for everything.”  
  
Jun’s eyes drift shut as the apology sinks in. Hearing it in person is different than simply assuming. For the longest time, he’s known that Sho must be feeling sorry. He thought it was a given, something he can carry in his heart because he’s known Sho, but he realizes that it’s way better when he finally hears it.  
  
“I’ve known,” Sho continues. “Like you, I’ve always known what would happen, what could happen. But I was never brave enough. I could’ve ended things between us early on or dropped out of candidacy sooner, but I was a coward on both ends. I couldn’t face you and those people who supported me properly, truthfully. It took a snoop to make me grow some balls, so to speak. In that time I stayed silent, I had to do a lot of thinking.”  
  
“Tell me,” Jun says.  
  
Sho no longer looks at him, absentmindedly using his feet to operate the swing and making the hinges creak. They need oil. “My publicist’s advice was to deny everything completely. The election at the time was days away. I said I’ll think about it. They told me I was not in the position to do that. And I think that’s when I finally realized that for the longest time, these people were controlling me.”  
  
It hurts to hear Sho say those, but Jun doesn’t speak. The wind blows, raining snowflakes on their hair—an illusion of peace that Jun doesn’t dare break.  
  
“They keep telling me that there was so much at stake,” Sho says. “That everything I worked hard for would no longer matter. And while that was true, I realized that the things I’ve worked hard for were done so I could satisfy them. They had many expectations on me. And when the news broke out, I could see the disappointment on their faces. The lack of support and acceptance. And that was when I knew that they were only there to support me if I remained exactly how they wanted me to be. If I was the perfect poster boy.”  
  
Sho sighs. “At that time, I felt so trapped. I didn’t know what to do. I wanted to call you, to ask what you’d do if you were in my shoes, but then I realized you were also going through the same thing. I was afraid I’d make things worse if I contacted you.”  
  
“You had noble intentions, Sho-san,” Jun says. “But some of them weren’t applicable to me. You were not responsible for me at the time.”  
  
“I felt that I was,” Sho says. “I wanted to protect you in any way that I could. I felt that I was the one who had dragged you into this mess.”  
  
“A mess that I willingly participated in,” Jun reminds him. “I’m not angry. I’m just reminding you that it was all mutual. Despite what the tabloids have speculated.” Jun smiles, remembering how they accused him of being there for the money and for Sho’s reputation. “That’s something you need to remember.”  
  
“Which I do,” Sho assures him. “I really do. I’m sorry if it looks like I’m trying to shoulder everything. But for the past few months, I’ve been beating myself up over not finding the courage to contact you, to make things right.”  
  
“You did call,” Jun says.  
  
“But not earlier even though I wanted to,” Sho says.  
  
Jun grins. “Still, you called. It’s enough. Don’t be so hard on yourself. And you keep apologizing. Don’t you think I’ve forgiven you already? Why else am I here?”  
  
Sho looks down, his lips pursed, and Jun knows he’s getting emotional. For grown men, they’re both too easily moved despite the images they project.  
  
“You’re too good to me,” Sho says when he recovers, but Jun notices that he’s still teary-eyed. “I’m afraid I don’t deserve it.”  
  
Jun shakes his head. “Luckily for you, Sakurai Sho, I decide that. Because if I leave things up to you, you’re going to make a meddlesome schedule that only you can adhere to. So no. You don’t get to say that. Only I get to say that.”  
  
If Jun knows one thing about Sho, it’s that sometimes, one has to go the hard way to make things work. That it’s not easy being with him. He snores, sometimes talks in the middle of chewing his food, hates coriander to an almost exaggerated extent, and is the type to pluck his leg hair in public if provided with tweezers. All these strange habits added to how crazy the way he schedules things make him a difficult person to be with.  
  
But he’s exactly what Jun wants. Not even the time they spent apart has managed to change that. If anything, the desire to be with him has only gotten stronger now that Jun’s seen him, now that he knows they’re both free.  
  
Is it too soon? It’s been months. They’ve both changed and matured in their own ways. But Jun isn’t sure if it’s what Sho wants. It was easier the first time because they both admitted it at the same time. But after everything, Jun has to know.  
  
“Don’t settle for me if there’s someone better. If you’ve found someone in the time we weren’t in touch, don’t hold yourself back out of what you think you owe me. Because you owe me nothing,” Sho says, and while Jun appreciates the sincere offer, it’s the dumbest thing he heard from a man he believed was smarter than him.  
  
“You can be such an idiot,” Jun says, shaking his head in disbelief. He’ll never understand the depth of his attraction to Sho, but he knows he’s acting on it when he fists at the collar of Sho’s coat and pulls him close, their breaths both fogging from the cold. “You think there’s someone else? When I drove for two hours straight to get here? Do you even hear yourself?”  
  
Sho gives him a small smile, gaze darting downwards to settle on Jun’s mouth. He’s careful when he removes Jun’s glasses and holds on to them, his eyes full of promise. “How bad is your eyesight?”  
  
Jun blinks in confusion. “What?”  
  
His breath is stolen in the next moment, Sho’s mouth insistent but soft against his own. It feels like the culmination of something overdue to be kissed by him, but also akin to something like finding his way back. Jun can’t fully explain it, a little surprised but also thrilled at how much Sho wants him.  
  
When they part, Jun thinks it’s Sho he tastes when he moistens his lips.  
  
“I wanted to do that since I saw you,” Sho admits, and Jun knows his cheeks aren’t tinged red because of the cold. “I guess that already gives away how I feel.”  
  
Jun shakes his head, pushing Sho back. He takes his glasses from Sho’s fingers and puts them back on. “Nope. I’m not settling for that. Tell me clearly.”  
  
Sho raises one of his arms and rolls the sleeve up, and Jun watches him with a frown, a little confused by what he intends to do. But then he sees a silver bangle around Sho’s wrist, glinting against his skin and turning cold the longer it’s exposed.  
  
“I never took it off,” Sho says. “Not even after. I look at it and I remember you, and I would inevitably find myself checking my phone for any photos of you or us together when I miss you. I’ve missed you. To the point I’m here wishing I made my move sooner. But if I had, we wouldn’t be here, right?” He smiles. “I’m so happy right now, you have no idea. Everything I ever wanted is now within reach.”  
  
“Then take it,” Jun says, knowing that Sho needs that push. “Nothing’s stopping you.”  
  
“Not anymore,” Sho agrees. He extends a hand in Jun’s direction—an offer but also a compromise. “A lot has happened between us. Maybe we’ve rushed this the first time. But after all that, I know there’s no one else. If you’ll have me, I’ll—why are you laughing?”  
  
Jun can’t help it. “You’re so serious. What, it’s like you’re asking for my hand in marriage or something.” Jun takes the proffered hand and holds tight, their fingers entwined. “You’re so weird.”  
  
“You said you wanted me to tell you clearly,” Sho complains. He stands with an annoyed huff, settling in the space between Jun’s legs that Jun has to look up to see his face. “And now you’re laughing at me.”  
  
“Because you’re making everything unnecessarily cheesy,” Jun says. “Aren’t you supposed to be good at public speaking? I remember having that image of you back when we first met.”  
  
“Ah but I’ve put all of that behind me,” Sho says, making Jun smile back. “I’m only looking forward from now on. And I want you to be a part of that. Let’s try again and take it slowly this time.”  
  
Jun quite likes how that sounds. He’ll never admit it, but it’s what makes him fist at Sho’s coat once more to tug him downwards, their faces mere centimeters apart. “If I kiss you, will your fans see?”  
  
“They know I intended to patch things up with you,” Sho says. “Did you know that they have a group chat and all on LINE? That they cheer me on without me knowing? They can be so dumb, really.”  
  
“Are they cheering right now?” Jun asks. “Hypothetically speaking, of course.”  
  
“Maybe,” Sho says, and he’s so close. Jun wants him closer, that almost magnetic pull a little hard for him to resist now that they’ve reached a common ground and came out clear with how they feel. “Do you think there are paparazzi watching?”  
  
There might be; it’s an empty playground they’re in. But Jun doesn’t mind. What’s important is what’s right before him. “Maybe. Do you mind?”  
  
The corner of Sho’s mouth lifts up in a smirk. “No.”  
  
It’s Sho who bridges the gap, a little tilt of his head to get the angle right, and Jun reaches up to hold him close, palm cupping his nape. They kiss with everything they have to offer, with hearts beating and intentions clear. They only pull back when it feels like they had enough, but still, Jun presses his mouth against the corner of Sho’s own, his stubble ticklish and making Jun giggle.  
  
“I like the beard,” he says.  
  
Sho makes a face. “It’s not a beard. Just a little facial hair. I’m not Santa.”  
  
Jun strokes the curve of Sho’s jaw with his thumb, the skin a little rough to the touch. “I like it. Keep it for me? At least until you start looking like a homeless person.”  
  
“Is that how you see me?” Sho asks, affronted. He straightens his trunk and shakes his head. “But you know I’m all talk. I’m actually going to think about keeping it because you said you like it.”  
  
“Don’t shave,” Jun says. “At least not for a few days.”  
  
“And what about the rest?” Sho asks, gesturing downward.  
  
Both of Jun’s eyebrows lift in mock surprise. “Corrupting me this early on? Unbelievable. Not once did my thoughts go there.”  
  
Sho laughs, hauling him to his feet. “Liar.”  
  
“I’d never, Sho-san, you know that,” Jun says, unable to keep himself from chuckling at the expression Sho makes. “Where are we going?”  
  
“I’d like to show you our mini gallery,” Sho says. He’s walking with purpose now, hand still clasped tightly in Jun’s. “We haven’t accomplished much so it’s mostly air guitar photos you’ll see, but I’m proud of what we do. It’s not Sugimoto Hiroshi, but I want to show them to you.”  
  
Jun squeezes their entwined hands, smiling out of happiness. Sho’s letting him in. He can be a part of this if he wishes. This side of Sho is no longer taboo.  
  
His heart feels full and for a brief moment, he wonders if Sho feels the same. He’s grateful for another chance and promises not to let go so easily even if things become difficult once more.  
  
From here on, there’s nowhere to look but forward.  
  
“Lead the way.”  
  
\--  
  
The next few months of Jun’s life are the busiest. A group of kouhais have shown promise and have been chosen as the pioneer group for Akatsuki. Before, the hosts depended on themselves to make it big. But it was Jun’s idea to form small groups to help shoulder the burden and lessen the feeling of competition, and it worked.  
  
A small unit consisting of three men have been dubbed King in honor of Jun, but it caught on. They get a higher rate since they’re group, but they’re a hit. Not as much as Kento, who’s now on second place after Nino, but they’re showing promise that Jun knows the group tradition will likely continue.  
  
For his part, Ohno’s leaving most of the new ideas up to Jun. If there’s something Jun wants to try or wants to experiment on before implementation, Ohno lets him. It makes Akatsuki a little unconventional than most clubs in the area, but it definitely keeps the clients coming especially when it’s performance hour.  
  
Jun’s official job description is acting as the assistant general manager of Akatsuki, but he’s also the one who faces clients for any complaints. It used to be Ohno and Aiba who do so, but Ohno passed the job to him after realizing how amenable clients seem to be when they’re speaking to Jun.  
  
“It’s the face,” Ohno says, like it just dawned on him. “The Matsujun power.”  
  
He’s being stupid, but Jun’s certain he knows that.  
  
When he has time, he makes sure he informs Ohno that he has to go to Minakami. Or wherever it is Sho has an event taking place. Jun never shows up onstage, but he’s taken part in a few air guitar sessions and believes he has the right attitude for it. It’s silly and he’s way too old to be doing it, but he’s having fun.  
  
Next week, Sho’s planning to pay a visit to a small group of women who use cups and strings to make music. Jun has no idea how that works, but he’s coming along to find out for himself.  
  
Now, he and Sho are in Hiroshima to personally deliver the donations Otonoha has received from the people of Gunma. If the people meeting them with smiles and shaking their hands are aware of who they are to one another, they don’t say it. They don’t look at them any differently, in fact. To them, they’re just two people who came to help.  
  
Jun’s been asked to help move a couple of boxes to the backroom of the gymnasium because the facility lacks hands and there’s still so much to do. It’s Sho who’s stuck with answering questions from the volunteers, having a bit of knowledge on the local government despite not residing in Hiroshima.  
  
Thanks to Sho’s connections, they were also able to donate a fair sum to a good cause. Jun saw the pride in Sho’s eyes, at being able to do something for those in need. It may not be what he envisioned when he was still running for a position, but this is more hands-on than what he may have imagined.  
  
And it’s getting to him. Sho’s quick to smile nowadays, his laughter obnoxious but still somewhat infectious. He’s so good at interacting with people that they warm up to him instantly, and Jun’s glad he’s seeing all of these first-hand. No more of reading about it on any news outlet on the internet.  
  
He’s wiping the trail of sweat from his brow with the back of his hand when he overhears it. He’s on his way back from helping to stack boxes in the storage room, and he stops when he hears someone blurt out the question, “So it’s true? That Matsumoto-san from earlier is not just a friend?”  
  
Jun steps into view but puts a finger over his lips so that the people Sho’s speaking to won’t alert him of his presence. He’s curious as to how Sho would handle this question—not that it’s never been asked before.  
  
They both still keep their Instagrams private, but Jun has since stopped from withholding himself from posting pictures that indicate what kind of relationship he and Sho have. Anyone on his followers list knows that they’re together, and he’s quite certain it’s the same for those following Sho’s account.  
  
“He’s a friend,” Sho says. “But he’s also more than that. I’m glad he’s right beside me as I do the things I’ve always wanted to do.”  
  
Jun rolls his eyes at the cheesiness of it and decides to make his presence known by nudging Sho’s side with his elbow. “I’m done with helping at the back.”  
  
“They were just asking if we’re friends,” Sho says, oblivious to Jun hearing everything.  
  
Jun hums. “I heard. Do you want to grab lunch? They told me there’s a local restaurant a few blocks down the road.”  
  
Sho beams at the mention of food, nodding. “Let’s go. Please excuse us.”  
  
The rest of the day is rather uneventful, just a few people asking for commemorative photos to remember their visit by. It’s the way back to their hotel that excites Jun, knowing that they’re to stay in Hiroshima until Sunday night because it’s the only flight that Sho’s able to book.  
  
He relishes the time that they have together. They’re still trying to find their footing on how to make the long distance thing work, and most of it involves Jun staying at Sho’s place in Gunma or Sho staying at Jun’s apartment until they both have to head to work.  
  
But right now is a rare opportunity that gives them the entirety of the weekend, and Jun can barely contain himself. He lets Sho take a rather innocent looking photo of them together, just with his arm thrown around Jun’s shoulders and the both of them smiling, the Hiroshima sun serving as their background.  
  
The rest of the photos, he takes intermittently. One while Sho’s sleeping on the van, cheek resting against one of Jun’s shoulders. Another while they’re both on the hotel bed, a kissing selfie that Nino would undoubtedly feel grossed out by should he see it. Jun will never upload something like that on his Instagram, but it’s a photo he wants somewhere in his camera roll.  
  
Looking back, it wasn’t easy. And looking forward, Jun doubts that it will. He and Sho aren’t rushing things, instead letting everything happen at their own pace. If there’s one thing the past year has taught Jun, it’s that the things worth having aren’t the easiest things to acquire.  
  
But he’s happy. Despite the difficulties and the adjustments—both on his new position at the club and in his personal life—he can genuinely say he’s happy. The emptiness he used to feel still lingers, but he’s learning how to get past it and not let it consume him. At night, he hardly even feels it. There’s almost always a warm body beside him, just within reach.  
  
Jun knows there’s still more to go. This year might bring something more challenging. But he’s confident he’ll get past it. Not in an instant, but he will. He’s got Ohno, Nino, Aiba right behind him. Even Toma and Shun.  
  
And Sho, who’s holding his hand every step of the way. Jun may no longer be the top host of Akatsuki, but he’s right where he’s always wanted to be and has everything he needs.  
  
Sho snores in the next moment, drawing a sigh from Jun, but Jun rolls over to poke at his cheek affectionately. Sho seems dedicated to sporting a stubble each time he’s with Jun, and his willingness to do even the smallest things never fails to put a smile on Jun’s face.  
  
But his snores are another thing. Jun can be forgiving, but only to a certain extent. It’s another night that requires an intervention of the Jun variety.  
  
He presses his mouth against Sho’s jaw, trailing the softest kisses there as Sho snores away. He’s bound to wake up soon, when Jun’s hand strays southward and starts touching him in places that Jun knows he’s weak to.  
  
But for now, Jun lets him sleep. Just for a few seconds. His snoring kills the mood, but he’s not Sho if he doesn’t snore like he wants to wake the entire hotel.  
  
“You’re a blur without my contacts on,” Jun whispers, answering that old question about his eyesight. “But I know it’s you anyway. I think I’ll always know.”  
  
Sho’s snores abruptly get cut off, a questioning hum coming out of his mouth as he stirs awake. “Was I noisy? Sorry.”  
  
“Shh,” Jun says, kissing him silent. He starts to move with purpose, throwing a leg over Sho so he can straddle him, feeling Sho’s hands coming up to clutch at his hips. Despite his haze that is yet to fade, supporting Jun’s weight seems like muscle memory for him. “Shut up.”  
  
“Mm,” is all Sho says, and Jun swoops down to kiss him once more. They can stay like this for as long as they want to. They have every right to do that now.  
  
“Jun?” Sho asks when they break apart, a hand coming up to brush away some of Jun’s bangs.  
  
“Yes?”  
  
Sho grins, soft and perhaps still sleep-addled. What he says next is better than any confession or promise, making Jun grateful for the difficult year because it taught him how to appreciate the simplest things.  
  
“I’ll always know you, too.”

**Author's Note:**

> The character outed against his wishes is Sho (and by extension, Jun), and it happens with a tabloid taking photos of him and Jun without permission, which results to him retracting his candidacy for the upcoming election season.
> 
> Homophobia is exhibited in the various social media reactions Jun has read. They're mentioned only briefly and minimally in the fic, but they're there.
> 
> Invasion of privacy happens even after the tabloid article, wherein Jun experiences a bunch of paparazzi stalking him.
> 
> There are a couple of fandom references present in this story (I counted 28 when I tried to reread the thing in one go), and feel free to tell me if you caught any of them.
> 
> ETA (03/27/2019): Twitter user kanaribroken was kind enough to create a graphic for this story, which you can find [here](https://twitter.com/kanaribroken/status/1101139032434651136). Thanks very much!


End file.
